In Cavern's Shade
by Castile181
Summary: During the first age, when Beleriand itself stands on the brink of destruction and Doriath falls from the height of glory to begin its long decline, Celeborn, a Sindarin prince as quick to wisdom as to he is to anger, meets Artanis, a Noldorin princess plagued by a dark secret, and finds himself plunged into a world of intrigue, lies, and mystery as ties grow turbulent. M violence
1. Chapter 1: The Bitter Expanse

The Bitter Expanse

Doriath: 1st Chapter

"There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired."

– _The Great Gatsby_

This barren ice was as cold as it was wild, as beautiful as it was desolate, an endless mirror stretching into oblivion, a coffin of the purest glass. From the snow the mountains rose cold and unforgiving, sharp peaks of clearest ice glowing with an ethereal blue light from deep within. It was a world heretofore unknown, crossed only by the Valar and Ungoliant.

At night they mourned those who had perished by falling snow and the great cracking of the sea of ice. In their dreams they realized the crippling but unspoken fear that tomorrow they might be the mourned rather than the mourners and, for the first time, the very real fear of what had once been incomprehensible death enveloped them in her icy mantle. Night after night Turgon had sat by the fire, inconsolable; at times he was silent while at others he wept outright yet always in his eyes was the look of one haunted by the unshakeable specter of guilt for those he could not save, for Elenwe, gone into the murky black grave.

The traitorous ice had cracked beneath her feet and she had plummeted to the freezing water below, her fingernails grasping frantically, uselessly at the lip of ice while Turgon bolted to her like an arrow loosed from a bow. But by the time he reached the spot where she had fallen, the ice had shifted and covered her. Then Turgon had taken his sword from its sheath and, in a desperate attempt to save his wife's life, hacked away at the ice while she clawed desperately at the underside of it. Yet it was of little use and gradually the bubbles of air that had escaped her mouth slowed, then stopped. By the time the others had reached them she had been still and frozen, her eyes open in death, her face already purpling. It had been a sight terrible to behold, the most recent in a seemingly endless concatenation of horrors, and despite their best efforts they had been unable to retrieve her body.

The sound rebounded off of the mountains like thunder, a great booming in the depths of the ice that stopped them all in their tracks, and a crack as sharp and loud as that of a great tree being seared by a white-hot bolt of lightening. She felt a lurch beneath her feet and then she was sliding on her stomach, spread eagled, over the ice. Her head hit hard and immediately a sharp painful throbbing started between her eyes and at the base of her skull. Her mouth, which had opened to allow for the natural impulse of a scream was quickly filled with the water and snow that made up the layer of film covering the ice. She had bitten her tongue. The metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth and she coughed up bloody snow. Her eyelashes were dusted with cold fresh powder.

Her arms flew out as she made to stop her desperate slide across the ice and she dug in her fingernails, which made an awful screech, like rusted metal, small balls of ice and snow accumulating beneath them as she worked to slow her mad glide. She could feel her stomach lurching with fear and adrenaline and the image of Elenwe's frozen purple face beneath the ice, staring up at them with dead accusatory eyes flashed through her mind. If she could not stop herself she would most certainly die. Death: a word she had long known but only recently come to understand. The cold sent shivers through her spine, which twitched involuntarily at the sensation. She felt the delicate skin of her fingertips separate from her nails and then the nails themselves tear like paper, a fresh pain racked her entire body as she slammed into the ungentle arms of an outcropping of ice. At the impact it felt as if cold knives had been plunged into her spine. Yet, she had stopped; she was alive.

A lesser woman, or one without such strong resolve or sense of duty, might have lain there until the others came to pull her to her feet and offer to let her ride on a sled, but she was not like that and so, waving away the frantically helpful hands of those who had rushed to her aid, she stood, with great pain and a great struggle, though she showed it not. Her heart was still hammering within her chest and her eyes were brimming with tears so she refrained from raising her head, lest she betray her true emotions and quickly brushed snow off of her cape, noticing that pools of blood were forming under her nails where the skin had torn. Her hands were cracked from the dry air and the cold. How very cold it must be, to have even such an effect on elves. Quickly, so that no one would see, she wrapped her bleeding hand in the folds of her cape and pulled it tight around her.

She was Artanis. She was Nerwen. She was the daughter of Finarfin. She was a princess of the Noldor. She lifted her aching head and straightened her back. For her people she knew she must go on. She had to be an inspiration to them in this trial, to remind them of their greatness, to remind them that they would prevail. They looked to her for strength and it was her duty and privilege to give strength to them. As her eager helpers faded back into the group of elves, she walked steadily to her brother Findaráto who was leading the group of Noldor at Fingolfin's side. Coming to march beside him she gathered her thin cloak about her forearms once more, for it had been slipping in the blustering winds, and wrapped it around her gown, though it did her little good, soaked from her slide as it was. The cloak, like the rest of her clothes, was far too thin. They had been unprepared but, then again, they had never expected to cross the Helcaraxe, never expected Feanor to do what he had done. Artanis clenched her eyes shut momentarily, willing those memories away before the dark thoughts could overtake her.

"Artanis, are you well?" Findaráto whispered anxiously, lightly touching her arm with his hand, his kind black eyes searching for pain in her blue ones. Though her oldest brother was her most loyal and beloved confidant, she was rattled and did not wish him to see her upset as he would worry over her incessantly. Pulling her hood over her head, she turned away.

"Nothing I cannot handle, thank you brother." Nerwen replied, keeping her head down. Her mouth was still pooling with blood and she was forced to swallow it, wishing most ardently that her tongue would stop its bleeding. She heard Findaráto sigh at her left side. He knew she was in pain but he wouldn't pursue the issue, knowing better than to baby his willful sister, and instead turned to speak to the young elf woman walking on his other side, Wilwarin, who had been given extra cloaks because she was with child. Perhaps, thought Artanis, Wilwarin should have stayed in Aman, but she had refused to be separated from her husband, who traveled with Findaráto's host, even though she knew it would be especially hard for her. And, after all, who among them could have predicted this? Even she, cursed with foresight, had not. What further horrors lay ahead?

Artanis pulled her threadbare cloak around her more tightly. She didn't shiver anymore, though she had at first. She was used to the cold now; it had numbed her body and senses into acceptance. She would finish this long march. She had embarked on it and she would finish it, be it in death, as Turgon's wife had, or in the reaching of safety in Endor.

Though, if the rumors she had heard were true, it was inhabited only by the Moriquendi who were mostly savage, hardly safe to be around. Findaráto had high hopes of seeking shelter with them and even suggested that the two cultures, Calaquendi and Moriquendi, be blended. Others, such as Feanor, believed that in this view her brother's wisdom had failed him, that to blend with them in culture and blood would be to dilute the purity of their own race. He had even spoken against the Teleri, whom he had always deemed the least of the Calaquendi, rebuking Olwe and saying, "You renounce your friendship, even in the hour of our need. Yet you were glad indeed to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores, faint-hearted loiterers, and well nigh empty handed. In huts on the beaches would you be dwelling still, had not the Noldor carve out your haven and toiled upon your walls."

In this manner had Feanor's words sat ill with Artanis for she herself bore Telerin blood from her mother and the implications of such speech troubled her greatly. She shivered now, not a shiver of cold but one born of distaste, for she recalled the way that she had worshipped her uncle Feanor and now, after the horrible things that he had done, she wondered how she could have been so blind, how she could have allowed his words to stir her, and she looked upon her past self with great distaste.

Nevertheless, she thought, turning her mind to happier thoughts, she expected that the Moriquendi would be glad to see them. They would have heard of the great wisdom and skill of the Noldor, who would only be too glad to educate their kin in their ways and perhaps together they would be able to rid all Arda of Morgoth.

The thought brought a smile to her face. This was why she had come. To explore, to conquer. She was weary of Valinor, of lands where she felt caged, always confined to being someone's daughter, someone's sister, a land where there was no room to be anything more than what you had been born. But her mind yearned for lands without a horizon, where she might establish her own kingdom in her own right, where she would bow to no one.

That night they built a stack of kindling from some of their salvaged belongings and lit it with the two precious stones of flint, the bedraggled group of survivors crowding around the meager source of light and heat. There were no stars in the sky tonight, the indigo void above as empty as her stomach.

Artanis gazed into the flames. Sometimes she still imagined she could see Feanor burning the swan ships of the Teleri, leaving Fingolfin, Artanis, and her brothers to die along with their people. Betrayal. He had left them with no other way but to brave the Helcaraxe. Even then, she could have turned back as her father had done, as he had begged her to do. But though she had not taken the terrible oath of Feanor and his sons, she had taken an oath of her own, to establish herself as a queen in her own right and to thereby thwart evil in all things.

It seemed so long ago that he had reached out and tugged gently on her hair as they stood beneath the light of the two trees, caressing it, and, though she had admired him, she had not liked his touch, her skin crawling at the merest brush of his fingers, and she had shrank away.

"_You would not miss a single strand. Twice have I asked and twice you have refused. This time I beg you give me a different answer... You are so beautiful to me Artanis."_

It was unnatural and her heart revolted against his sentiment. At a loss for words she had slapped his hand away, running from the plaza. Although he called her beautiful, when he said it, she felt disgusting. His eyes contained an unsettling strangeness, perhaps that's what it was, perhaps that was all that he was, fire, burning and destroying.

_There was blood everywhere, staining the beaches and the tide was rising, stained incarnadine. She saw Curufin plunge his blade into the heart of a tall silver haired elf, blood burbling around the wound as he withdrew the crimson stained weapon. Saliva, froth, tinted pink with blood, trickled from the mouth of the Teleri as he crumpled into a heap on the dock. He twitched and then was still as a milky film glazed eyes that had only a few moments earlier, been full of shock and terror. _

_ The Teleri still did not comprehend what was happening and their confusion cost them dearly for they had been unarmed and they had hesitated to escape when the Feanorians had first drawn their swords, unable to believe that their kinsmen truly intended to slaughter them. Everywhere there were people running and the air was filled with screams. Artanis could feel the tears running down her face. She had been raised here in Aqualonde, amongst her mother's people, and now wherever she turned she saw familiar faces, cold and glassy eyed in death._

_ A newly severed head bounced to the dock from the shoulders of its owner and spun like a top. Startled, she lurched backwards, tripping into a fountain. The water from it sprayed onto her face and she shrieked as she noticed that it was red with blood, the entrails of the disembowled floating lazily across the gruesome surface. Hands wrapped around her neck from behind and she struggled violently, choking hard, her chest tightening, and managed to shake her attacker off, turning to find herself facing a she elf who was with child. _

_ Artanis gasped, confused, unable to understand what was happening. The Teleri lunged at her again shrieking, fear, pain, and anger in her eyes. She was afraid that Artanis would kill her and Artanis stood frozen. Then, the she elf was knocked off of her feet as Celegorm charged at her. She fell, hitting her head on the ledge of the fountain, blood and brainmatter beginning to leak from her cracked skull but somehow she was still alive. "No!" Artanis gasped. "No!" _

_ "GO. TO THE BOATS!" Celegorm screamed at her. He grabbed the Teleri by her silver hair and thrust her head into the red pool. She did not struggle hard, already half dead, and her body soon went limp, collapsing against the stone. Artanis stood stunned. It was like a horrible dream. Surely, surely she would awaken any moment. "ARTANIS GO!" He shouted again, smacking her hard across the face. It shocked her out of her frozen stupor. All that she knew how to do was run and run she did, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. A vision, white hot and burning, seared across her vision: Feanor, the silver scalps of the Teleri hanging from his belt, his eyes gone mad. She reached the boats to find his sword pointed at her throat._

_"Three times you denied me! Think you now that I shall allow you to pass?" He screamed, his face contorted with anger and madness. He swung wildly at her and she turned, fleeing from the ships shrieking, clawing at her head. Her mother's kin were dying all about her. It vanished._

_Suddenly she was in a much different place. She lay upon soft silken sheets and a bright white light filled her mind. She felt warmth beside her. A hand caressed her cheek gently, a soft kiss on her lips, then the hollow of her neck. A soft rich laugh. The whisper of a name: Galadriel. She smiled and then it was gone._

Artanis awoke with a start. Her breath was ragged and her heart pounding, her body shaking and not because of the cold. She had felt fear and then joy. She lay back down as one of the elves standing guard over the sleeping company looked at her anxiously. Her dreams were growing more troubled lately and they were increasingly confusing. For days after the kinslaying her memory had remained blank. And then, then, the memories had started to return in pieces. She lay awake, unable to resume her slumber.

The arrow flew straight and struck true, landing dead center in the gnarly black head of an orc. Celeborn, silver-haired prince of the Sindar turned to direct a thankful nod at Beleg Strongbow, who sat perched in a tree with his mighty black bow. The master archer grinned back in acknowledgment and Celeborn lazily turned to sink his mithril axe into the neck of an orc that was coming straight towards him.

Ever since Thingol and Denethor had led them to victory against Melkor's forces in the Battle of Beleriand, the attacks by the orcs had been getting weaker and weaker. They had marshaled a force to send south in support of Cirdan, who had been besieged at Eglarest and Brithombar but, since Denethor had been slain and the Laiquendi had refused to fight without him, the force had been too weak and it was repelled. Belegur had dealt them a blow indeed, though they had triumphed, and it would take them years to return to their former glory but return they would, for this was the land of Elu Thingol, High King of Beleriand.

Celeborn bent to wipe his axe on the fallen leaves and smiled as he heard Beleg whooping and singing a Sindarin war song. The orcs had all been slain and the elves milled about, checking the corpses for anything of use before leaping into the trees and heading back towards Menegroth, crossing the girdle into their hidden kingdom. They sang as they ran and as they swung through the trees, falling in with Beleg's song.

_The four winds are blowing,_

_A war party came a riding,_

_They came riding on wolves._

_Their teeth they were sharp,_

_Sharp as knives in the dark._

_Our arrows they were sharper,_

_Our blades they were sharper,_

_We have obliterated every trace of them!_

They sent up a great shout as the song came to an end and then Celeborn began to lead them in song, the others joining in.

_We circle round, we circle round,_

_The boundaries of the earth._

_We circle round, we circle round,_

_The boundaries of the earth._

_Wearing our long wing feathers as we fly,_

_Wearing our long wing feathers as we fly._

_We circle round, we circle round,_

_The boundaries of the sky._

They ran throughout the day, eager to return to their home after weeks spent outside the girdle in the wilderness. As much as Celeborn missed Menegroth, he was quite certain that he could live forever in these woods. He loved the feeling of the wind in his face and the living trees beneath his feet. He could hear them singing as he passed through, greeting him, his old friends. From the tops of the tallest sycamores he could see all of Doriath spread out beneath him, a sight that never failed to strike wonder into his heart. There was never a time when he felt more wild and free, never a time when he felt happier than this, to see his kingdom in all of her beauty.

Moving quickly, they reached Menegroth by nightfall and passed happily through those gates of the hidden kingdom. Dinner was underway but some of their company headed for the bathhouses instead while Celeborn and Beleg, sick of eating nothing but lembas, dried meat, and nuts, headed for the great hall, where dinner awaited. It was in the Sindarin tradition for all to eat together there, which they did by sitting on cushions around low tables set on the floor. All were free to wander as they pleased and most did so, moving from table to table, sampling different foods and conversations as they went. Here kitchen maids mingled freely with the king's counselors and animal and elf alike was welcome. Dinner here was not a chore to be quickly done with, no, it was an event to be relished and enjoyed over the course of an entire evening.

Celeborn and Beleg moved slowly through the hall for there were many who wished to greet them or have words with them but before they could satiate their growling stomachs, a messenger approached to summon them to Thingol's chambers and it was with much regret that, as they left the hall, they looked back at the steaming trenchers of roast boar meat and grilled fish and forest herbs.

"That shot!" Celeborn exclaimed with a laugh as they tread the familiar path to Thingol's quarters. He stopped momentarily, reenacting it. "That was a fine bit of archery Beleg, like shooting a fresh melon." He laughed and strode forward once more.

"Just doing my job your highness," Beleg replied with a grin. "Not all of us feel the need to perform theatrics with our axes," he spun about, performing a mockery of Celeborn's fighting style, laughing.

"Your highness…" Celeborn scoffed, "you mock me Strongbow!" But their antics continued no further for they had arrived at Thingol's great door and Celeborn knocked, though he waited for no reply before entering. "Uncle, I say, calling us away from our dinner. Do you not think that most cruel and unusual?" The prince asked, feigning complete seriousness as he stood at rigid attention before the king, who was sitting in his chair behind his desk.

"Not so cruel and unusual as what I might have done to you had you not heeded my summons," Thingol said with a raised eyebrow and a grin, for he could not entirely mask his amusement at the antics of the two younger elves. Celeborn's name meant 'silver tree' and yet Thingol often pondered that 'silver tongue' might have been more appropriate, whether for better or for worse, for the prince's words could either smooth over the most bitter of quarrels or cut one down to the very bone itself. "And besides," the king continued, turning to Melian his queen, who sat to his right, "we have received very shocking and important news that I would tell you immediately, before word of it spreads like wildfire throughout this city."

"Well if it is interesting enough then we may forgive you after all," Celeborn said to his uncle.

It was Melian who laughed at her nephew's earnest expression and then she said, "As the both of you well know, I have been particularly perceptive of a changing lately, though I knew not what that change was until today. But, at last, we have had word from Cirdan and, not only him, but from our cities in the Northwest."

"May I be permitted to hope that this is good news?" Beleg asked them. "For neither one of you looks particularly somber."

"Whether good or bad we cannot yet tell," said Thingol, "but it is certainly news that would invite caution, though there may a part of it that is joyous as well. Time will tell with it, as it does with all things. Yet, be not impatient and allow us to speak properly. Today we received word from Cirdan at Falas that the orcs which were attacking have drawn back at last," the king said, a grin upon his lips and a twinkle in his eye. He leaned forward, resting his elbows upon his desk. "Good news not only for Cirdan, but for us as well, for long had I worried that I could not send him the army he needed and now my worries have been assuaged and Menegroth need not tax herself so harshly to meet that demand."

And at this Celeborn cocked his head, eyeing his uncle quizzically, for though he enjoyed his jests and good fun, he was above all a highly intelligent lad and Thingol could see that his nephew's mind was already bent upon the matter fully. It was, indeed, the reason that the king had named the young silver-haired prince as his right hand. "Do you mean to tell us that Cirdan has managed to push them back himself unaided or can it be that they have retreated of their own accord?" Celeborn asked. "For it seems to me that both of these scenarios seem highly unlikely. It may well be that Cirdan could have achieved this but it would have taken him a much longer time than it has done."

"Well said nephew," Thingol gave answer, "and, indeed, you have struck near the truth. Belegur's forces abandoned their siege of the havens in favor of joining another battle."

And now it was Beleg who reasoned aloud, saying: "Another battle…but with whom? Denethor's people? Yet that cannot be, for they have sworn to never fight again after Denethor was slain."

"This also is true," Thingol said, for it was not Denethor's people who joined in battle with Belegur's forces. Rather, it was to move against one called Feanor that the orcs abandoned their siege of Falas," Thingol replied, the satisfaction in his eyes coming together as his tale neared its climax. He did so love to make them think but both of them stared back at him with blank expressions.

"Feanor? But who is he?" Celeborn asked, "For I have never before heard his name and it seems strange to me that one whom I do not know should enter into this realm without my knowledge." Both he and Beleg were looking intently at their king now.

"He is the son of my dear friend Finwe, or so my reports from our people who live in the north say," Thingol said simply. At that both Beleg and Celeborn grew wide-eyed with shock, for whatever news they had expected, it had never been this. "The Noldor have returned," the king said.

"What of the Vanyar? What of the Teleri?" Beleg asked.

"Either they have not come at all and will not or they have not yet come," Thingol said. "At the moment only the Noldor have arrived."

"A very strange turn of events indeed," Celeborn mused aloud.

"Is this not cause for rejoicing?" Beleg asked. "Surely it cannot be coincidence that they arrived in our hour of need, as Cirdan was besieged with us powerless to help him. Perhaps they have been sent by the Valar to assist us. For the loss of Denethor was a great blow indeed and without the assistance of the green elves we were not even able to assist Cirdan at the havens. If their force is large enough we might be able to take decisive action against Belegur." But Celeborn did not throw his lot in with Beleg for he had taken notice of Melian and the uncertainty that he saw in her eyes, finding that it rhymed well with a certain foreboding that seemed to trouble his heart.

So instead he said: "And yet why should the Valar see fit to answer our prayers now when they have consistently turned deaf ears upon our pleas? For out of all of them only Orome shared in both our pleasures and our sorrows." Then did Beleg turn a skeptical eye on his friend, for the prince's habit of blasphemy had ever struck him as ill, but Celeborn continued to speak, saying: "Could it not be that this is no triumphant return, but an exodus caused by some event in Aman, some great trouble or unrest? And should not the fact that none of our Telerin brethren nor any of the Vanyar travel with them be evidence enough that there may have been some discord to which we are not privy?

"When I contemplate this question, my heart grows disquiet indeed and I find that my mind immediately wishes to know more of this situation, to know if these Noldor are well prepared, as if for a journey long-planned, or whether they are in disorder, seeming like one who steals from his bed in the middle of the night. There are those who might say that this line of questioning is mere folly for Aman is good and all of the fruit that she bears is equally good. Yet on some rare occasions have I seen a prized tree yield a spoiled apple and so I find that I cannot believe that any land, even Aman itself, does not bear some stain."

Then did Elu Thingol sit in silence for a long while, for these were thoughts that had not occurred, even to the him and Melian, and he found himself astounded at the wisdom of his nephew. Young though he was, it was aptly that he was called _Ngolo_, the wise.

At length the king spoke, saying: "Many ages have we been separated from our kin in Aman and so we cannot with certainty say what might have passed or understand how they may have changed in the time in which we have not had contact with them. Yet you are right indeed to wonder these things nephew, and I find even that you have brought questions to my mind which I had not previously considered.

"Upon first hearing the news, I, like Beleg, was overjoyed to think that I might once more meet my kin, from whom I have been long sundered, and my mind ran even so far as to think that perhaps the way had been opened to us and the Eldar might now pass freely between Aman and middle earth," Thingol said. "Yet when I pondered further I grew uneasy, for I wondered why Belegur should have returned so suddenly to our lands and begun to build up once more his fortress of Angbad, and I think not that it is mere coincidence that the Noldor have come so soon after he. And there are many questions that I have concerning the strange goings on of late: these two lights, one gold and one silver, that now circle the sky and the increase in Belegur's strength that led to the war we have only just finished. I should very much like to know the answers to these questions." So said the king.

"Can you not see what has happened?" Celeborn said, turning to Melian but she shook her magnificent head.

"The way is closed to me, concealed with a darkening shroud," the queen told him, "I dreamed that I walked through the forest in a starless night when before me lay a gate of stone so great that I could neither see over it nor pass around it. It was as tall as a mountain and seemed to span the entire earth. There hung from its top a long black curtain that seemed to billow in the wind though there was no breeze and yet I could see nothing on the other side for it seemed only darkness lay there. As I approached, a great fear came over me and then from the other side I heard thousands of voices whispering to me in a language I could not understand yet it seemed that they called to me for help, entreating with me to save their lives. But, as I placed my hand upon that shroud I suddenly knew that were I to pass through, I could never return and I should be gone forever. Then the voices all cried out at once and were immediately silenced." Celeborn felt a cold chill creep down his spine at the Queen's words and from the look in Thingol's eyes he knew that the king had already heard this tale and that he and Melian had discussed it with concern. These were dark tidings indeed.

"These Noldor carry a great evil with them," she continued. "It is something the like of which I have never seen, yet I cannot perceive it clearly, though I have sent my creatures to watch them and though I myself have wandered ghostlike amongst them at night. It is an evil so great that they dare not speak it aloud nor give it name." Celeborn's heart was greatly troubled then, for he had never known Melian to be thwarted in her designs and so he surmised that this evil must be great indeed and carefully guarded.

"We must be wary," Thingol said. "This may merely be the precursor to worse things that are to come." Celeborn could understand his king's wariness well. Never had he heard Melian speak of such dark things but he was well aware of the veracity of her premonitions and, like Thingol, it was not something he would take lightly. "It is, therefore, my decree that none but the children of Finarfin be allowed within the girdle of our realm." The king continued. "For these four alone we have judged to be innocent of the stain. Beleg," Thingol said, turning to the chief warden, "you will communicate this information to the other march wardens and most especially to Maglor when he returns from our borders."

"The children of Finarfin?" Celeborn asked.

"My sources say that there are four, three males and a female, though they journey alongside Fingolfin's people, separately from the Feanorian host. It seems that some rift has opened between the two groups though we cannot know what it is. And here is an answer to your earlier question nephew, for while Feanor's host is fit and healthy, the hosts of Fingolfin and the house of Finarfin appear as paupers, dressed in rags, emaciated such that their bones are tight against their skin. Yet we could not discern all that had happened, for the scouts that discovered them do not speak their language."

"Did our people initiate contact?" Beleg asked.

"No, not with Fingolfin's host and the children of Finarfin who travel with them. The Noldor do not know that we are tracking them. But it seems that Fingolfin's party has come into contact with some of Denethor's people, from whom we have received our information, though they are not able to communicate very well with them. They approached the green elves whenever they saw them as if in a panic, for they were starving and knew not how to cultivate the earth. The green elves taught them as much as they were able, though they could not well understand their speech, and took pity on them, giving them clothing and food."

Elu Sindacollo he was sometimes called, the "grey cloak" for his family's genetic trait of silver hair, yet at times Celeborn thought that he ought to be called Elu Lhewig, "The ear," for there was not a thing that passed in Beleriand that Thingol did not hear of. "But," the king said, continuing, "Feanor has indeed come into contact with some of our people, though they liked him not. It is from them that I have received word of his movements. These two groups of Noldor are traveling separately, which leads me to believe that mayhaps there has been some quarrel among their princes or else they did not leave Aman together."

"You have known of this for some time then, have you not?" Celeborn asked.

"The first news, from the green elves and from our folk in the Northwest, came to me soon after you left to cleanse our borders but the news from Cirdan I have only heard today." Thingol said.

"Your highness! I beg you, wait but a moment!" Beleg said, raising his hands as he laughed uncontrollably. "What do you mean they do not know we are tracking them? Are they truly so unaware?" Thingol shrugged.

"They seem somewhat ill adapted to forest life and they are unaccustomed to living in the wild. I have heard that they have brought all manner of strange things with them, furniture and such." Celeborn and Beleg could not contain their mirth at that and both began laughing wildly. Even Thingol, though he had tried to remain serious in light of the dark news he had so recently delivered, could not help but crack a grin. At times he felt very exhausted indeed, for life in middle earth was no easy thing and being a king in charge of those lives he sought to protect was harder yet. With the recent war and Belegur's growing strength he had often spent many a day in worry rather than sleep, yet it was good, he mused, to keep these young elves around in the capital and not send them overly much to the borders, for they reminded him of the days when he too had been young and carefree.

"Very well then," Thingol said to the young ones, who were still doubled over with laughter. "You have given me a great deal of grief over your dinner and yet now that I have finished with you I am surprised that you do not make with all haste to the banquet hall. Get thee gone then!"

"Oh please," Celeborn said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Please uncle will you send us to scout their position?"

"Absolutely not," Thingol replied. "I will not have you seek them out for your own entertainment when I need you for other matters. And, besides, you will see them soon enough. Two of Finarfin's sons ride for Menegroth as we speak."

"Indeed, they have just now passed the girdle," Melian said, turning to her husband.

"Two of his sons? What of his daughter? We wish to see his daughter," Beleg said with a grin and Celeborn nodded his assent.

"We do indeed uncle, we do indeed," he chimed in.

"Go on, get out of here!" Thingol said with a shake of his head while Melian laughed, a sound with all the richness of bells. But the kind stood as the young ones made to exit and approached his nephew.

"Celeborn," Thingol took his nephew by the elbow as the younger elf made to leave, "another thing." The king spoke in a low voice, looking agitated. "Frerin has been pestering me again…something about me bringing him here under false pretenses. They're just clamoring after money like they always do." He shook his head. "You know how dwarves are. Would you go and placate him for me whenever you have the time?"

Celeborn sighed. The relationship between the dwarves of Nogrod and the Sindar had been strained of late and whenever Celeborn dealt with either Frerin or Thingol on that matter it tried him sorely. It was like weeding through an endless web of lies and half-truths with more unpleasant surprises around every corner. As much as Celeborn loved and admired his uncle he continually found himself frustrated by the political entanglements that he often entrapped the both of them in.

"Of course uncle," Celeborn said with a smile and a nod, for he had not the liberty to say anything else else, but a certain uneasiness settled over him as he and Beleg at last adjourned to their dinner.

"Brothers!" Artanis cried, standing and brushing the soil from her hands. "Tell me what it was like! Was it truly wonderful?" Angaráto and Aikanáro could do naught but laugh as they dismounted from their horses for they had seen Artanis look a queen in all of the fine regalia of a Noldorin princess in the gardens of Lorien, and they had seen her look the most boyish of them all, wrestling in the mud and playing at swords with her cousins in Valinor, but this was the first time that they had seen her wearing sackcloth for a dress while she dug potatoes barefoot.

"Thank the Valar you are here," she said as embraced them. "Our dear cousins have arrive and are eagerly awaiting you," she whispered, rolling her eyes. "Findaráto and I are about to go mad and he has already been fighting with them and they have spoken many bitter words to each other concerning the business with mother's people and also about how they abandoned us at the mouth of the Helcaraxe."

"Glad I am to hear this!" Angaráto said, "For if Findaráto had not already said something to them concerning their dastardly behavior then I certainly would have."

"Yet what does it profit us to start old quarrels anew?" Said kindhearted Aikanáro. But Artanis knew her brother well and though Aikanáro was gentle of both heart and speech, she doubted not his resolution, for of all of them he had been the most fierce in battle, his eyes seeming to flash with fire, and the Feanorians had not forgotten the many of their men that the youngest son of Finarfin had slain on the docks of Alqualonde in defense of his mother's kin.

Together the three of them approached the place where their cousins sat with Findaráto and as they approached they could see indeed that all there were exceedingly disgruntled. And the children of Finarfin were careful to refrain from looking at the stump Maedhros bore where once had been a hand, for the wound had not yet grown old and they had heard from Fingon that it was with an anger terrible to behold that their cousin confronted any who dared mention his deformity.

"Cousins, well met!" Angaráto called out to them as they drew near but the Feanorians greeted them not with courteous words but sprang to their feet at once in haste, demanding to know all that the younger sons of Finarfin had learned in their brief months spent at Menegroth, the capital city of Doriath and the home of Elu Thingol, called Singollo, King of Doriath and High king and Lord of Beleriand.

As ever, Caranthir was the first to speak and he did so rashly, as was his habit, crying out: "Tell me now cousins what you know and do not think to hide anything from us for we shall find it out!" And they all knew by his words and from the rumors that they had heard that it was true indeed that their cousins had grown envious that Thingol had extended his welcome to Finarfin's children but not to those of Feanor.

But Maedhros was the oldest of Feanor's children and, as such, he resented that his brother had usurped him by being the first to speak and so he rebuked him, saying: "Be silent brother, for you forget yourself. These are our cousins who come to us in peace and mean us no harm. Let us sit and speak with them for a while. Do you not recall the days of our childhoods when we would play together at our fathers' feet?" And, having heard the words of their eldest brother, the rest of the Feanorians calmed themselves and took their seats once more upon the rich and verdant grass.

"Very surprised I was indeed," Curufin said, "to find our cousin Artanis digging about in the dirt like a common green elf." He laughed as though it was the most amusing of jokes and Artanis had the good grace to smile, yet a great unease hung in the air. For the Feanorians had come to these shores by boat with all of their provisions intact save those they had lost in the storms after first setting out from Alqualonde. But the children of Finarfin had been forced by their cousins' treachery to cross the Grinding Ice, using up all of their food and stores in the process, and losing many of their people to death besides so that when at last they had arrived on these shores they had appeared so like skeletons that they had given a nasty fright to the green elves who had discovered them. At that time, even Artanis might have been called ugly and the hair of Findaráto had grown so brittle from malnourishment that he had been able to break it off in great hunks, for though they were princes, the children of Finarfin had shared equally in all of the hardships of their people.

Moreover, the cavalier attitude that the sons of Feanor took in speaking of the green elves sat ill with the House of Finarfin. For, when first they had come to these shores, it had been because of the kindness of the green elves, who had provided them what clothing and food they could spare in addition to teaching them how to cultivate this strange and foreign land, that they had survived at all. The first winter had been hard, yet it would have been certain death if it had not been for the elves of this land who had helped them. All of the Noldor had come to this land with ideas of ethnic superiority over those elves who lived here, yet seldom now was the word _Moriquendi _spoken by those of Finarfin's house, for it seemed poor recompense for those who had saved their lives.

But things had been different with the sons of Feanor for they had needed no assistance or else they had refused what assistance was offered to them out of pride. It had been the Sindar, or grey elves, and not the green elves who had happened upon Feanor's people. And the Feanorians had treated them with scorn, laughing at their strange clothes and even stranger habits, mimicking their language and speaking disrespectfully about them in Quenya before their very faces.

"Well you called me a little piglet when we were children for the way I squaled when you tickled me," Artanis said, her eyes full of mirth, "Is it not natural then for me to root about in the dirt?" They all laughed, remembering how they had quarreled together as elflings and the sons of Finarfin sent up silent prayers to the Valar for the remarkable tact and charm of their sister, who had managed to extract them from what might have been a sticky situation.

Then, after passing some more time in reminiscing their days in Valinor, they at last arrived at the business that they had all convened to discuss and Artanis was among the most eager of them to hear what news her brothers bore, for her interactions with the green elves had awakened in her heart a great desire to meet the gray elves and to journey to their capital city, Menegroth, from whence her brothers had come this day.

"Tell us then," said Maglor, ever good natured, "how was your time in Menegroth and what words did you exchange there with her dark king?"

"It is a wonder to rival even the gardens of Lorien," said Angaráto, "a cave, just as the Sindar told you that it would be, yet like no cave that I have ever seen. You would hardly be able to believe that you are beneath the ground, or that it is all carved of stone, so magnificently is it wrought."

"Then tell us more about it," said Findaráto, "for already I find that my curiosity is piqued in the extreme."

"The ceiling is like no ceiling that you have ever seen," Aikanáro said, "for it is so high above you that it might be as far away as the sky itself and it seems to be imbued with magic and charms for it does not look as a ceiling, but as the very sky and in all ways does it imitate both the day and the night. The stars move across it, and the moon as well, a perfect illusion of the night itself so that if you were to step outside and then back in again you would not know the difference between the two. During the day, which is when the Sindar sleep, for they love not the sun and turn their joy towards the moon and stars instead, the ceiling appears as a bright sunny day, with perfectly blue skies and white wispy clouds like cotton or else it roils with stormclouds and crackles with lightening, again, mimicking exactly the weather of the true sky, but never does rain fall within the palace, even if there be a veritable downpour outside.

"The pillars of the palace are carved in the likeness of trees of all species in such exactitude that you would not be surprised to imagine that you saw them growing. And these are tall beyond measure, reaching clear up to that high and magnificent ceiling. Their leaves are of emerald and glass, clear and glittering, veined with gold, and they reflect both the light of the sun and of the moon with equal beauty. The floor is not of marble or granite or tile but is in every way exact to the forest floor, comprised of both dirt and grass and mosses, flat in some places and with hills in others, and the roots of the pillars are dug into it as if they were real trees and real flowers grow there as well, lilies such as I have never seen, and many specimens of plant that do not grow in Aman. The ground beneath one's feet is thick with greenery and mosses, flowers and ferns from which peek rabbits and deer, forest cats and wolves, and all manner of birds and even salamanders and lizards. These are wild creatures that come and go from the palace as they please, just as if they were elves themselves and subject to Thingol's rule.

"Then there are the streams: creeks and brooks that flow freely throughout the city, their water fresh and delicious to drink, as beautiful and clear as crystal. These are filled with all manner of fish, many of which I have never seen before, and they are vibrantly colored in reds, oranges, and golds, blue and lavender and green. But these are not for eating and the Sindar feed them and take delight merely in watching them and caring for them. Truly," he said, "it is the most wondrous place that I have ever seen and I gave thanks to Illuvatar himself for giving me the gift of sight that I might behold it."

At his words the heart of Findaráto was moved, for the desire grew strong in him to create a kingdom such as this, a thing of beauty and of majesty into which he could welcome all who wished to come and he dreamed of this day, when all divisions between kin would cease to exist. And Artanis was moved as well, for to her the city seemed beautiful beyond what she could imagine and she wished nothing more than to see it for herself. Driven by this desire she spoke, asking: "But what of Menegroth's people? What of King Thingol and Melian, his Maian queen? What of the Sindar? Most ardently do I wish to hear of them."

"Then I shall tell you," said Aikanáro, while Angaráto listened quietly, for of the two Aikanáro was the better storyteller. "King Thingol I met myself and he is impressive indeed, tall as Finwe himself, taller perhaps, and with the most handsome of faces, yet he is quick to anger and one is given to think that his anger, if truly provoked, would be most terrible to behold indeed. A true king he is, wise and kind, a giver of gifts beyond the power of kings. And he is called Sindacollo by his own people, 'grey mantle,' for his hair is of silver, pure and bright as mithril, like a fall of stars it was, long and regal.

"And also I saw Melian the Maia, beautiful beyond comprehension, with hair as black as midnight and eyes like the evening sky. Little did she say yet my sense was that she was always perceiving things that were beyond my understanding and, in her presence one felt a certain magnificence. There is a princess as well, Luthien she is called, the daughter of Thingol and Melian, and if it were possible, one could say that her beauty surpasses even that of her mother. Very fair she was and kind of heart, ever joyous and gregarious, she takes delight in everything and many nights did she dance to her heart's content there in the beautiful halls of Menegroth," he said, and Artanis laughed, seeing the star-struck look in the eyes of both Angaráto and Aikanáro.

"The way you speak of her, one might think that the both of you were besotted!" She cried and Angaráto laughed.

"It is impossible for any man to behold her and not fall in love with her!" Aikanáro said. "Yet fear not Artanis, for there is a prince as well, Celeborn he is called, and I know not what it means, but the king sometimes calls him _Ngolo_, meaning 'the wise' in Doriathrin, for he is not only a great and fearsome warrior, but the king's chief counselor and his right hand. None deals with Thingol who does not first deal with the prince. Furthermore, he is exceedingly handsome, very tall and strong, even for a Sindarin male, and besides Thingol, he is the only other of the Sindarin royals to be silver of hair."

"I had not heard tell that Thingol has a son," Maglor said, intrigued.

"He has not," Aikanáro gave reply. "For the prince is the grandson of the third king of the Teleri, the lost king: Elmo, the brother of Thingol and of Olwe." Hearing the name of Olwe the Feanorians grew uneasy, yet Aikanáro continued his tale and they were at peace again. "Thus he is Thingol's great nephew, though Thingol calls him nephew, for he thinks of him like a son, having raised him as his own after the deaths of his parents when he was but a babe."

"This is all very well and good," said Celegorm, "and yet I think that I have heard my fill of Menegroth and her people. For I have come to hear what Thingol has said concerning our desire to settle the lands in the North and I grow more and more impatient."

Then did Angaráto speak, seeing that the Feanorians were growing anxious and also that they had taken offense at the mention of Olwe's name. "Then I will tell you what Thingol said," he told them. "Many long and pleasant hours did I pass in conversation with the king and he spoke to me, saying: 'Thus shall you speak for me to those that sent you. In Hithlum the Noldor have leave to dwell, and in the highlands of Dorthonion, and in the lands east of Doriath that are empty and wild; but elsewhere there are many of my people, and I would not have them restrained of their freedom, still less ousted from their homes. Beware therefore how you princes of the West bear yourselves; for I am the Lord of Beleriand, and all who seek to dwell there shall hear my word. Into Doriath none shall come to abide but only such as I call as guests, or who seek me in great need.'"

Then did the hearts of the Feanorians grow hot within their chests, for this seemed to them a cold welcome and they were jealous indeed that Thingol should have welcomed their cousins whilst he had turned them away. In his passion, Maedhros showed not his earlier restraint, but laughed and made reply to Angaráto, saying: "A king is he that can hold his own, or else his title is vain. Thingol does but grant us lands where his power does not run. Indeed Doriath alone would be his realm this day, but for the coming of the Noldor. Therefore in Doriath let him reign, and be glad that he has the sons of Finwe for his neighbors, not the Orcs of Morgoth that we found. Elsewhere it shall go as seems good to us."

Then Angaráto staid his tongue, for he wished to rebuke Maedhros and tell him that he knew not of what he spoke, for Thingol was a king indeed and a powerful one at that but any king, having only just fought a great war against Morgoth himself, could not be expected to have reclaimed all of his lands in such a short time. Yet before he could placate his cousin Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud: "Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin."

"That," said Maedhros, taking hold of his younger brother's arm, "was not so courteous!" But the damage had been done, for Angaráto had grown wrathful at the words of his cousin and even now went forth from the council with all haste, desiring to be not anywhere near the sons of Feanor and Galadriel, his sister, went with him to comfort and calm him. Then did Maedhros turn to Findaráto and beg his pardon.

"Cousin, I humbly beseech you to forget and forgive the harsh and callous words of my brother, for he spoke in anger and knows not what he says," Maedhros said.

"Yet it seems to me," said Findaráto, "that the sons of Feanor have made a habit of doing things in anger that they later regret." And hearing Findaráto's words, Celegorm and Curufin and Caranthir grew wroth with anger but Maedhros, together with Maglor, managed to restrain their brothers and, once more begging Findaráto's pardon, Maedhros led them forth from that place shortly thereafter.

Then did the Feanorians part from the other princes of the Noldor, going north into Himring and for many years after that they had very few dealings with their Noldorin kin in the western regions of Beleriand for Maedhros deemed this to be the wisest choice by which he might prevent strife between his brothers and the other houses of the Noldor. Yet he himself remained friends with Fingolfin and with Finarfin's children and would come among them at times for common counsel. Yet he also was bound by the oath, though it slept now for a time.


	2. Chapter 2: A Journey in Darkness

In Cavern's Shade

Doriath: 2nd Chapter

A Journey in Darkness

"I am a stranger here, within a foreign land;  
>My home is far away, upon a golden strand;<br>Ambassador to be of realms beyond the sea."

A great feast it was to be, yet Artanis could not help but feel that it was nothing more than a thin façade. She brushed at her gown, her one remaining proper gown, as Fingolfin raised his goblet to begin the toast. The rest of their clothing was threadbare and the grinding ice had stolen the majority of their possessions from them so that princes now lived as paupers. Yet Findaráto had been the most prudent in protecting his wealth, for he had brought a wealth of jewels and precious metals with him out of Aman, hoping with it to make alliances and barter for whatever they might need but at the moment that hope seemed in vain for all of his wealth did them no good as they could not eat jewels or gold nor could they spin them into cloth.

Artanis had never been a sedentary girl but the hard winters had taken their toll upon her both physically and mentally. It was with embarrassment that she now recalled her words when she and her brothers had debated seeking refuge in Menegroth.

_We are the children of Arda, those who have seen the light. We do not need the aid of our dark cousins in order to settle here. Furthermore, why should we wish to put ourselves in their debt? It is below us. Such an alliance would most likely prove to be detrimental._ Findaráto had thrown his hands up in frustration. He knew that his sister was intelligent but she could be so headstrong, so stupidly and unreasonably stubborn at times. Artanis felt shame wash over her at the memory and, worse than that, guilt.

The first winter had been the hardest and their joy at surviving the Helcaraxe had been short lived, for many more had perished in that starving time and well did she remember the pangs of hunger she had felt, the way that her eyes had grown sunken, the bony protrusions of her elbows and shoulders. The loss of her beauty, though only temporary, had been a humbling experience.

They had not known how to cultivate the land here nor how to hunt the animals, which were more agile and wary than those in Aman, and they had only survived by happening across several green elves who had been kind enough to show them how to grow root plants like potatoes and parsnips. Yet they had not been able to communicate well with them and the Laiquendi seemed somewhat averse to them, unwilling to let them starve, but reticent to remain in their company. Once they had seen that the Noldorin host would survive, they visited less and less frequently until, eventually, they had disappeared entirely.

The elves of this land were mysterious in that way for, though she was sure that they were all around them, she never saw them, nor did anyone else. They seemed to be entirely one with the land and it concealed them, offering them cover that it did not put forth to the Noldor. Now that she was here, Artanis could not exactly recall what she had supposed before she had come, but it must have been something along the lines of assuming that all the elves of Ennor were some sort of homogenous group. Yet, even in the short time that they had spent with the few green elves, she had learned that this was not so.

There were the grey elves, or the Sindar, the Eluwain as they called themselves, and these were the people of the hidden kingdom ruled by the mysterious king, Elu Thingol that her brothers has spoken so highly of. Then there were the green elves, or the Laiquendi, but they had once been Nandor. Avari there were as well, and they had a very unfriendly relationship with the Sindar. The Noldor had expected to find a virgin land and had instead blundered into a political world of which they had no knowledge. This had been made abundantly clear to them by the green elves who, though they could not communicate extensively with them as they did not speak the same language, were not hesitant to physically show their displeasure with the Sindar or the Avari when asked about them. Yet, at the same time, it was clear that these elves bore far more loyalty towards Thingol than they ever would towards the Noldor.

Fingolfin had once had the poorly thought out plan to send the green elves to obtain information about Thingol but the green elves had become extremely angry at the mention of this. This was the instance in which Artanis had realized that there were elves and then there were elves, for the elves of middle earth were quite different than the elves of Aman, and in unexpected ways. These elves could become quite angry and mercurial at the slightest provocation and had no compunctions about raising their voices or shouting, even if they were speaking to Fingolfin or Turgon, Fingon or Findaráto. Indeed, they seemed not to respect the hierarchy at all and could be downright impudent at times. It was all very shocking. Artanis had had some vague notion that the Noldorin host might be greeted with welcome and great fanfare. Instead, she found that they were avoided, and that Thingol and the Sindar spied upon them from near and far, ever present, never seen.

Perhaps it was this yearning for knowledge of the unknown that fueled her so or perhaps it was the rumors that surrounded the hidden kingdom and its mysterious king, and almost certainly it was in great part due to the enchanting words that Aikanáro had spoken regarding Menegroth but, whatever it was, Artanis had become more and more possessed by the burning desire to see one of these Sindar for herself, to see whether they were more man or myth. At times she could almost feel their presence, knew that they were nearby. She would hear a rustle in the trees or a soft voice upon the wind and it would send her running in the direction of the sound, only to be met with shadows and silence.

And now, today, she had gotten her wish at last. Fingolfin's toast, given in halting but moderately fluent Sindarin, was over and she had heard none of it, caught up in her reverie, but she clapped in applause along with the others before partaking of the feast before her. The food was good, the best she had eaten in a long while, for the Noldor were becoming increasingly adept at cultivating the land and gone were the days of starvation. There was meat on their bones again and friendship in their hearts, for today was a day for setting aside differences and uniting all of the elves in one cause. Ambassadors had come from all the peoples and realms of Beleriand and much effort had gone into impressing the ambassadors sent by King Thingol of the Sindar, for a potential alliance with him was proving to be more and more important.

Whatever her initial assumptions may have been, things were as Aikanáro had said: Thingol was no rustic woodland elf playing at King, but he was indeed a great King in his own right, a king on par with those of Aman. She felt obligated to respect this elf she had never met if only for the reason that he was lord of this dangerous and unforgiving land. He must be mighty indeed to be able to govern such a thing. And then there was the fact that he knew all of their movements. Nearly as soon as Feanor's people had moved into the north they had received an emissary from Thingol asking their business.

Now, Artanis was looking at two of this King's subjects and she had to admit that though she was impressed, she was not surprised, for they resembled the land they were born of, just as she had supposed they might: they were tough. There was one called Dairon and the other called Mablung and both of them were tall in stature and strongly built, unlike the green elves and Avari who were more willowy and shorter. Only Dairon wore a tunic, though its style and cut was quite different than those of the Noldo, and the one called Mablung was clad merely in deerskin leggings, leather bracers, and a strange silvery-grey cloak that seemed to blend into the shadows. The one called Dairon also wore a suede jerkin over is tunic, the skin of his hands and face, for that was all that was visible, as pale as snow, but Mablung was bare-chested and burnt by the sun. It was quite the contrast when compared to the ornately brocaded and stiffly starched clothes of the Noldor but the Sindarin garments were finely made, even if they did not wear very many of them. Still, the green elves wore considerably less than even the Sindar, sometimes employing clothes made only of leaves; there was indeed a stark contrast between the two peoples.

Dairon was the taller of the two, with long mahogany hair that was tied into two braids and keen, flashing copper eyes set in a kind face. Mablung was not as tall but he was built like an ox, thick and powerful. His pitch-black hair was shaved on the sides but stood up straight down the center of his head, ending in a long ponytail tied with a strip of leather. His face was sharp and angular with simmering blue eyes and a seemingly permanent wry grin; there was something about him that was almost sensual. But all that she could do was look, for they did not speak Quenya and Artanis did not speak Sindarin. However, they were managing to communicate with her brothers, who also did not yet speak Sindarin, as well as Fingolfin, through some sort of hand gestures and, despite the relative lack of conversation, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Artanis could feel the lust for wandering rising in her heart once again and she fantasized about asking them to take her with them to their hidden kingdom, where surely all had eyes like theirs, filled with mirth rather than the light of the trees. What wonders must lie there, what fantastic things, she wanted to see all of it!

"Artanis," the somewhat annoyed voice came from her left, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Yes?" She asked and Angaráto rolled his eyes as he sopped up the sauce on his plate with a bit of bread.

"For the Valars' sake sister, must I keep calling your name? Artanis, Artanis, Artanis, you are more harebrained than mother's forgetful old cousin lately."

"My apologies brother, though if you weren't running your mouth all of the time I might have more of a propensity to pay attention. It is a cumbersome task indeed to pluck but a few flowers from a garden of weeds." Angaráto elbowed her and she elbowed him back with a laugh. Then he grasped her elbow and pulled her close so that he might lean down and whisper in his ear.

"Look at them," he said and she followed his gaze to where her cousins sat at the far end of the rustic wooden table, dappled sunlight falling upon six sets of shoulders. "Do they look repentant to you?" Artanis shrugged.

"A tiger does not change its stripes…" she began.

"…and birds of a feather flock together." Angaráto replied and Artanis knew by his words that he had not forgotten the harsh things that Caranthir had said to him when he and Aikanáro had been newly returned from Menegroth.

"Exactly." She replied. "They'll do it again, when given the chance." She sighed. "Do you think Findaráto is sincere in his trust of them?" Her brother nodded, swallowing his wine.

"It's Findaráto, of course he is, have you ever known him to be anything other than sincere? He wears his heart on his sleeve and one day it will get him killed."

"Don't say such things Angaráto!" She whispered, feeling a dark shadow move across her heart. "Have we not contemplated enough dark things already?"

"Better than ignoring them as Findaráto would have us do. If word of what Feanor has done ever reaches Thingol's ears it is better that we were first friends than foes. Perhaps the judgment will not be as harsh. We ought to tell him ourselves. Believe me, I have met him."

"It is not our place," Artanis began, twisting her dress between her fingers nervously, her eyes glancing up momentarily towards where the two Sindarin emissaries sat, but they were chattering away in their own strange language, blissfully oblivious to the tensions around them.

"If not ours then whose? Maedhros? The Feanorians will never say anything.

The fact that we did not participate ourselves in no way exempts us from the blame. Do not forget that we could have stopped them, ought to have stopped them, and yet we stood by out of fear for our own safety and fortune. Someone ought to tell Thingol." Angaráto fumed quietly.

"I fought," she insisted, "and besides they are leaders in their own right, Findaráto and Fingolfin…" Artanis began, even as she knew that she was merely trying to avoid the topic. Yet even as she spoke she knew that her words were not her own, for truthfully her heart lay with Angaráto's argument, though when first they had arrived she had thrown in her lot with Findaráto. She did wish that hotheaded Angaráto would stop speaking of it already. The Sindar were sitting right there and though she knew they did not understand, it still seemed to lack in tact and decency.

"Findaráto, Fingolfin, the Feanorians, they are all in another king's territory." Angaráto said, accentuating each syllable. "And he is not one to be messed about with, this…" he almost said Thingol's name but paused, noticing how the two Sindarin heads kept bobbing up at each mention of their king's name, "king," he said instead.

"I am still sour with you over that. Do not think I have forgotten." Artanis said, furrowing her brow and pushing food about on her earthenware plate. It had not been fair at all. Her older brothers were always running off doing exciting things with Turgon and Fingon and she was always left behind with the women and, worse, the babies, which she didn't even like. She had braved the Helcaraxe and she could shoot better than any of them, even her father said so, yet they were always leaving her behind. They never said it directly, yet she knew the reason and saw past their excuses; they were frightened of her visions, just as her parents had always been, frightened that she would fall and hurt herself, frightened that they would not be able to deal with her when she entered that state of mind. Recently the visions were getting worse and still she could not manage to control them, was not even sure if it could be done.

"Aikanáro and I had to ride fast. We could not waste time. Besides, we were unsure of whether or not we would be welcomed." Angaráto dismissed her anger.

"I am a faster rider than either of you and you know it!" She scowled.

"It has been fourteen years," her brother laughed, "surely you cannot still hung up on that little sister." He put her off again. "And, furthermore, if I recall correctly it was with great joy that you greeted us upon our return."

"Only because I wished to hear the tales of your journey and because you were a welcome alternative to _them_," she nodded towards her cousins at the end of the table. "You went to Menegroth without me and you _knew_ how much I wanted to go and how much I wanted to meet the Sindar." She said, her voice rising. The two Sindarin heads bobbed up again at the mention of their capital city.

"Artanis," Angaráto took her elbow, "keep your voice down. It wasn't as though we excluded you intentionally, we merely did not think to ask you."

"That is the problem Angaráto, I am always an afterthought," she said drolly, sipping from her wine. Her brother was on the verge of a reply when the two Sindar cut into the conversation, perhaps having sensed the tension that had arisen between the siblings. Dairon looked at them expectantly and said something but Artanis and Angaráto were at a loss as they were ignorant of the languages of the elves of Middle Earth, most of all, the language of the Sindar, having directly dealt with them the least of all.

While Artanis and Angaráto frantically tried to understand, the Sindar seemed not to share their anxiety, merely staring at them with kind and somewhat hopeful faces. "Could you repeat yourself?" Angaráto asked hopefully.

"Aikanáro, you don't need to speak so slowly and loudly. They aren't deaf!" Artanis hissed.

"What do you want to know?" She asked, shrugging her shoulders and throwing her hands up as if to pantomime incomprehension. Mablung laughed and said something but they still could not understand. The Sindar laughed again and Dairon drew out a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil, drawing two figures. One was a circle with lines coming out of it and the other was a plain circle with five-pointed stars surrounding it. He pointed towards the sun and then placed his finger on the circle with lines.

"Oh he means the sun," Angaráto said, pointing at the sun himself to confirm. Dairon nodded enthusiastically. He pointed at the drawing of the sun again and then at the real sun, pantomiming it moving across the sky, then he pointed at the other drawing and did the same thing. Artanis and Aikanáro stared blankly for a moment and then Dairon repeated the gesture while Mablung said something in Sindarin. Then they both imitated the questioning gesture that Artanis had made.

"I think he means the sun and the moon," Artanis said to Aikanáro. She repeated Dairon's gestures and then pointed to the two drawings. He nodded but still seemed a bit puzzled. Turning the slip of paper over he drew a mass of stars on it and then pointed up at the sky, moving his hands as if to show that there were thousands of stars up there. Next, he drew a round circle on the piece of paper amongst the stars then pointed up at the sky, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. He pantomimed a look of surprise then and, suddenly, Artanis understood.

"The sky was dark and there were only stars then, poof, the moon appeared! They saw the moon and the sun moving across the sky. They want to know where the moon and the sun came from!" She said, excitedly, repeating Dairon's motions. The elf smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

Artanis took the paper from Dairon and began to draw. First, she drew the two trees of Valinor and drew rays of light emanating from them. This seemed somewhat incredulous to Dairon and Mablung and they poured over this drawing for some time.

"Thingol," Dairon said, pointing to the trees.

"Yes, yes, Thingol has seen them." Artanis said and they seemed to have reached some sort of understanding.

"Ernil, Celeborn Ernil." Beleg said, pointing at one of the trees.

"What does he mean?" Artanis turned to her brother.

"Celeborn is the prince of Doriath, do you recall? I met him briefly when I was there, but did not speak to him much as he does not speak Quenya. Ernil….I know I have heard that before." Angaráto pointed at himself. "Ernil?" He asked and Dairon nodded. Then he pointed to Findaráto and Aikanáro, further down the table. "Ernil?" He asked again and Dairon nodded again. Angaráto pointed to Artanis. "Ernil?" Dairon shook his head.

"Riel," Beleg said. "Ernil, Ernil, Ernil, Riel." He said, pointing to each of Artanis's brothers and then her.

"Celeborn Ernil?" Angaráto asked, pointing at the drawing of the trees. Mablung laughed raucously and shook his head. When the two Sindar stopped laughing they began the explanation again.

"Celeborn," Mablung said, pointing at one of the trees. "Glawar," he said, pointing to the other. "Celeborn," he said pointing back at the other tree.

"They call one of the trees Celeborn and the other Glawar," Artanis said.

"I think so," Angaráto replied. "And only Thingol has ever seen them. They lived in darkness here until the rising of the sun and the moon. But which tree is which?"

"Celeborn. Celeborn Ernil," Dairon said, then pointed at the tree again.

"Celeborn Ernil?" Angaráto asked, taking a strand of his own golden hair between his fingers and tugging on it. "Menegroth, Celeborn Ernil?" Mablung nodded then pointed at the tree again.

"Celeb, orn," he said, then he took out his mithril dagger, pointing at the silver blade. "Celeb," he said. Then he pointed at one of the beech trees behind them. "Orn," he said.

"Celeborn is Telperion, the silver tree," Artanis said, the realization dawning over her. "And the prince of Doriath is named Celeborn."

"Yes, I think they are trying to say that he was named after the silver tree, and that Thingol named him after seeing the trees. He has silver hair." Angaráto said.

"Is he Thingol's son?" She asked and her brother shook his head.

"His nephew," Angaráto replied. Mablung pushed the paper back towards Artanis, gesturing for her to continue her story. She drew the great spider, Ungoliant, and showed her piercing the trees, draining them of their light, and then she crossed them out, drawing them dying. She could tell by their gasp of horror that the Sindar understood and they began to whisper between themselves. Artanis continued, drawing Yavanna and Aule creating the sun and moon out of Telperion's silver flower and Laurelin's golden fruit. She then drew these two moving across the sky and the Sindar seemed satisfied, sitting back and sighing mournfully. They continued to talk amongst themselves for a few moments and then Dairon turned to Artanis once more and asked her something, raising his hands to his eyes as if weeping mournfully.

"Was it sad?" She asked. "Yes, it was very sad indeed." She motioned crying and the Sindar nodded gravely.

"I like them very much indeed!" She said later, after the feast had disbanded and she had been forced to speak to her much-loathed cousins. "I do wish that I could have gone with them. I should so much like to see Menegroth."

Findaráto laughed at her enthusiasm. "As should I little sister. Perhaps we may one day go together, hm?"

"I should like that very much," She said. "Angaráto said that it is a place of wonders: a thousand caves and each one of them a magical living forest. Melian is as beautiful as the dawn and as terrible as an earthquake. Thingol is wise beyond measure and the Prince Celeborn exceedingly clever. Then there is Luthien, the princess, and she can sing like the birds and dance in a way that enchants all who see her. She is nearly my age too, imagine, we might become friends!"

"Is that so?" Findaráto asked. "Well," he said, turning towards his sister and favoring her with his kind eyes. "As you know, I am not like Aikanáro and Angaráto, content to follow Fingon and Fingolfin into the Northlands. And, when at last I am ready to build my own kingdom I intend to go to Thingol to ask him permission."

"When you are ready?" Artanis said, laughing, "brother, you have talked of nothing but founding your own kingdom since first we arrived yet twenty something years have passed and still we wander about as nomads, living here and there."

"It has to be exactly right you see." Findaráto said with a wink.

"The place? And how will you know that it is exactly right?" She queried.

"Because I will! Because I will just know!" He said, taking her hands and spinning her about in a circle while she laughed. Despite their differences, Artanis did love her brothers very much and, most of all, Findaráto was her favorite.

"This is very finely wrought Frerin," Celeborn said, holding up the glittering chainmail, admiring its delicate yet strong craftsmanship in the light of the fire from the forges. The smithies had never been his favorite place; something about not being able to see the trees and sky, or at least the likeness of them, bothered him and he had always had a particular aversion to fire. Yet, he knew how much the dwarves from Nogrod coveted the king's recommendation and Celeborn was the king's ears. He hefted the mail, amazed at how light it was.

"Ho ho! I am very glad to hear that, very glad indeed," the dwarf said, the trinkets in his braided beard jingling as he laughed. "But you do not like armor do you Master Celeborn?" He asked, reaching out to take back the mail a little more quickly than was polite, almost as if he half expected Celeborn to steal it.

"I wear it when Thingol requires it of me, but truth be told I prefer leather. Yet there are many of the wardens, and the king himself, who I am sure would be glad for the protection that such quality dwarven mail can offer," Celeborn replied with a smile.

"Celeborn of the trees. You and Beleg," Frerin said, "there's a green elf bent to the both of you, and there was to that Amdir too." And, though he was smiling there was a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. It was one thing that set Celeborn ill at ease when the dwarves of Nogrod were around, that tendency to be dissatisfied with anything other than exactly what they wished. He much preferred when it had been the dwarves of Belegost who had resided in Menegroth.

"Whatever my personal preferences may be," Celeborn said, "I know fine work when I see it and I shall be glad to give my recommendation to the king on your behalf if that would be agreeable."

"A purchase order would be more agreeable," the dwarf said bluntly. "My people have done fine work here and we are growing tired of these continual delays."

"I understand your concerns," Celeborn told him "but you must understand that my people do not do things in the same way as yours. It is not uncommon for such things to take them awhile." However, in the back of his mind he was beset with doubts, for it seemed that the dwarves believed Thingol had made them some promise about purchasing their wares and Celeborn began to worry that Thingol may indeed have done just that and then neglected to inform him. The king had a regrettable habit of making promises when he was in exceptionally good spirits and then not following through on them later.

"Not everyone has all the ages of the world to wait about," the dwarf glowered. "If you mean to come here and tell me that you, you who has the king's ear, you who are the king's hand, cannot do anything about this situation then I shall have to call you a liar sir," the dwarf huffed.

"You would be correct to say so," Celeborn said with an uneasy laugh. "Peace, Frerin. I shall speak to the king on your behalf and I assure you that this situation shall be soon remedied."

"So much for the promises of elves," the prince heard the dwarf huff as he left the smithies.

"Look at her! Isn't she spectacular?" Thingol asked, watching as Luthien bounded about the hall with the other revelers in a wild dance. He and Celeborn sat together upon a pile of cushions, leaning against a pillar, well into their cups. All about the hall the inhabitants of Menegroth, both elven and dwarven were doing the same, feasting and reclining and making merry, for today was a particularly special day: Luthien's begetting day.

"Of course she is. There is none finer," Celeborn said with a grin, assuaging the king's fierce pride in his daughter as he refilled both of their cups with cold beer.

"You know," said Thingol, pointing at Celeborn with a finger made less steady by the amount of alcohol that he had imbibed, "I still recall with exquisite vividness the night that she was conceived."

"Uncle!" Celeborn laughed, shaking his head. "There are certain things that I neither desire nor need to know."

"Just you wait nephew, one day you too shall know the joys of fathering a child and then you shall know exactly what I am talking about," Thingol said with a grin.

"I fear not Uncle," Celeborn said, "for I am well past the marrying age now and I have no luck with the elleths."

"A greater lie I have never heard," Thingol said with a booming laugh. "There is not a single woman in this city who does not secretly wish for an offer of courtship from you and many a married one as well I would reckon," he said with a wink while Celeborn shook his head in mock exasperation at his uncle's teasing. "How can you not be interested in any of them?"

"I have plenty of experience uncle, if that is what you are implying," Celeborn said. "Too much perhaps. I find that I have had an aversion to courtship entirely for the past few decades."

"It would not be wise to extrapolate your experiences with Venessiel onto all women Celeborn. I assure you that not everyone is like her, most are not like her in fact."

"When I find the right elleth I shall be sure to let you know uncle," Celeborn said dismissively, taking a long drink from his glass of beer and ardently wishing this conversation were over.

"You know," Thingol said with a conspiratory glance. "This Artanis who travels here with her brother Findaráto, the Finarfinians, she is said to be a rare beauty and to possess a very keen mind. Dairon and Mablung sang her praises after returning from the Mereth Aderthad; hair like spun gold, eyes like the stars, a smile of pure radiance they said."

"I ought not refill your glass for I can see how drunken you must be to suggest such a thing," Celeborn said, even as he poured fresh beer into his uncle's goblet. "A Noldo?" He shook his head. "All I have heard of them has been arrogance. Besides, I care not for golden hair. Cease with this business of pairing me off, I beg of you!" The two of them laughed, reveling in the merriment of the evening, the joy of the music, and the heady feeling of alcohol in their veins.

"As a matter of fact," Celeborn said, "there is something about which I have been meaning to speak to you."

"Celeborn, I am trying to enjoy these festivities," Thingol said, disgruntled, waving his hand about, "this, this celebration in honor of my daughter's begetting day and I can tell from the tone of your voice that you intend to speak to me of some loathsome political topic."

"All the more reason to get it out of the way quickly then," Celeborn said with a smile while his uncle made an attempt to glower at him.

"You plied me with beer," Thingol said accusingly.

"The dwarves are restless," Celeborn told him.

"I thought that was what you were going to say," Thingol said with a sigh.

"You can't put it off forever. You did, after all, employ them to craft things and now that they have crafted what you asked for you delay their orders and their payment. They have a perfectly logical argument."

"I did not lure them under false pretenses," said Thingol, growing agitated. "It was they who wished to come here to use our smithies and I who provided them with an opportunity to do so. I owe them nothing. I should throw them all out." There was a brooding look in his eyes now as he surveyed his mug of beer.

Celeborn pressed his fingertips together and pursed his lips while he considered how best to present the issue to his uncle, frustrated with him. Though, it was not as if he had expected a different answer; when pushed, Thingol generally pushed back reflexively and aggressively, even when it would have been better for him to compromise. Celeborn frequently saw the beginnings of the same reactionism in himself, no doubt a result of the fact that it had been his uncle who had raised him. Indeed, he had acquired many of Thingol's mannerisms, for better and for worse, but, in seeing the harm that was occasionally brought to Doriath by his uncle's reactionary temperament, Celeborn continually strove to mediate his own.

"You saw how many soldiers Denethor lost in the war due to their weak armor and primitive weapons. The blades of our axes were crafted by the dwarves and the heads of our arrows as well. The superiority of dwarven made weapons have been proven, the armor will prove itself as well."

"And our bows were more powerful, our armor, both leather and mail, more sturdy, all crafted by Sindarin artisans. It is not entirely because of the work of the dwarves that we prevailed. If the dwarves wish to utilize our smithies then I shall be happy to have them but it does not mean that I am compelled to buy their wares. Dwarven made armor…" Thingol shook his head.

"Not ready?" Celeborn felt the anger bubbling within him and struggled to force it back down. "Then when, pray tell, is the proper time? Perhaps lives could have been saved with such armor, for it seems to me more sturdy than what we have now. We may have won the war, and we certainly did not suffer casualties as severe as Denethor did, but you cannot deny that our losses were not great. You know as well as I do that something is afoot, something dire, else why would the Noldor have come from Aman? Indeed, this you have confided in me. These are strange times and dangerous ones too. Melian has said as much, should we not heed her warnings? It would behoove us to make ready before we have need to be so. The next war may be more dangerous still." He had done his best to suppress his frustration yet he had not been completely successful and the hints of his anger had bled out into his tone.

"Watch yourself nephew," Thingol said with a glare, his jaw tensed. He eyed Celeborn for a long moment before continuing and Celeborn felt his heart sinking, for he knew by that familiar look that his anger had put his uncle off and Thingol was now all the more likely to reject his petition. "This is about more than practicality; it is about history, about culture. Our people barely like metal armor at all. They are certainly not ready for that crafted by dwarves. It is too drastic of a change for them. None of them want it, would you even wear it?"

"I would be willing to try it," Celeborn said, but he had paused too long and Thingol had read in that silence his unwillingness.

"Would you?" Thingol laughed and shook his head. "Don't play false with me nephew."

"I would try it," Celeborn repeated himself, firmly this time.

"And Mablung, Beleg, have you spoken to them?"

"Mablung said he would think about it."

"Think about it? And Beleg?"

"He thinks that it is too cumbersome to be useful," Celeborn admitted, "but it need only be used in times of war. And besides, might it not be better to part with a little silver and retain the loyalty of the dwarves of Nogrod than to turn them away angry? We might need them as allies."

"No," Thingol shook his silver head. "No. Celeborn, I have heard enough of this." He held up his hand to stop his nephew's protests. "This has gone on for far too many years and you have come to me asking for a decision so, very well, I will tarry no longer. Frerin is out of line to demand such a thing. My answer is no and that is final. No one wants dwarven armor and no one needs dwarven armor."

And Celeborn stood, making to depart from that place, for Thingol was not the only one who was quick of temper. "Your highness," he said tersely, bowing before he departed.


	3. Chapter 3: People of the Night

People of the Night

Doriath: 3rd Chapter

"A king there was in days of old:

ere Men yet walked upon the mould

his power was reared in caverns' shade,

his hand was over glen and glade.

Of leaves his crown, his mantle green,

His silver lances long and keen;

The starlight in his shield was caught,

Ere moon was made or sun was wrought."

_- J.R.R. Tolkein, The Lay of Leithian_

His advisors remained silent. No one wished to disturb the tenuous hold that the princes maintained over the exiles. The slightest disturbance threatened to throw all of them into a mutinous disorder. Such a thing... Fear lurked among them, the fear that they might all be capable of what Feanor and his sons had done. That, in an instant, disagreement might set all of the survivors at each other's throats, that princes might kill subjects, subjects kill their princes, fathers kill sons and brothers kill brothers. But 50 years ago they would never even have understood the concept of such a thing. Now it seemed all too probable.

The weight of paranoia hung in the air like ash and smoke, thick, suffocating and only Artanis was bold or foolish enough to speak. Findaráto loved his sister but at the moment he sincerely wished to wrap his hands around her lovely neck until her fea fled her body. The thought had come unbidden and it shocked him. Never before had such a thing crossed his mind and he found that he was disturbed by himself. Still, Artanis let her words flow freely.

"Do not play false with us Findaráto!" She spat, her blue eyes lit with an unearthly ardor. There was a collective gasp as the advisors shifted nervously. Never before had they seen her speak to the prince so boldly.

"Fool! Cease with your ignorance. Can you not see that the future of our people stands upon the edge of a knife? The smallest misstep may bring disaster. I, at least, have not forgotten the bloodshed that disagreement brings. Have you? Do not pretend as though you are innocent! For among all of us who fell under the trance of Feanor's honeyed words, you were the most enchanted by them and dreamed of lands and kingdoms where you might satisfy your own selfish ambitions! If you wish to go with me to Menegroth then you will abide by my decision. If you do not then you are free to follow Fingolfin's people to the north with Angaráto and Aikanáro."

"She is right Findaráto. Lies and half-truths seem a poor defense against future bloodshed. Indeed, they very well might cause a resurgence of it." Angaráto began, but he could not continue before Artanis interrupted him, her anger flaring out again.

"How are you any different than Feanor? He destroyed the lives of others to achieve his own ends. Now you seek to conceal this secret from the Sindar so that Thingol will grant you the right to found your own realm. And what of the Sindar? What if they inadvertently come between the Feanorians and the Silmarils. They would be slaughtered like their Teleri brethren, unaware of the reason for which they are dying and unprepared to defend themselves." She fumed. And the Noldor hung their heads at her words, for none of them dared speak openly of what had passed and they counted her half a fool for having done so. Something about maintaining their silence allowed them to believe that it had not happened.

"I have seen it Artanis, in a dream sent to me by Ulmo himself! On the banks of the river Narog, I am to build a hidden city of measureless caverns there in the fertile ground, in forests ancient as the hills, a secret hidden place to prepare for the day of evil, to establish a refuge and stronghold lest Morgoth break forth from Angbad. I saw it in my dream, the last refuge! I must build it at all costs or there is no hope for our people." Findaráto's voice was equally as passionate as his sister's.

"Brother, I implore you," Artanis said, "I am more accustomed to the gift of foresight than you. You do not know the dangers associated with it! You cannot blindly trust what has been shown to you!"

"The _gift_ of foresight?" Findaráto replied, crossing his arms. "Whether the illness that plagues you is foresight or not I cannot say. It is certainly nothing like the visions that I see, for those are peaceful and good. Perhaps you are going mad, have you thought of that? Perhaps you will go as mad as Feanor and our cousins have!" He shouted at her.

"I can hear no more of this, I cannot." She fumed, turning and marching away to be on her own and of all of them only Angaráto turned to watch her go, for his heart was troubled as well and his mind held more to his sister's opinion.

"Leave us if you please!" Findaráto called to his advisors and they needed no further urging from their prince to return to their encampment, for the quarrel that had erupted from the council they had meant to take had brought up matters of which they preferred not speak.

"Do not say another word!" Findaráto said when at last they had left, turning to Angaráto. "I know you are of the same mind as her!" As their older brother paced back and forth, Angaráto's eyes met Aikanáro's and they both shook their heads. When Artanis and Findaráto fought there would be no compromise.

Findaráto stopped pacing, glancing towards the campfires burning in the near distance where his people gathered round, preparing food. At the edges of the encampment the men were readying the horses, making everything presentable for tomorrow, when they were to journey towards Menegroth, parting with Fingolfin's people. Further still from the encampment sat Artanis, having chosen to retreat to the spot furthest away from him, out of spite no doubt.

She was clothed like a male in leggings, a tunic, and a short and well-worn cape, the hood of which she pushed back, revealing the messily piled hair upon her head. The mud of the journey was still caked to her bare feet and stained her clothes. Findaráto felt his ire rising again. She ought to be helping the women cook, encouraging them as a princess should. She had not even bothered to mind her appearance lately, letting herself run wild, when her beauty might have been a comfort to their people, who struggled in a foreign land. Instead she sat in isolation, pretending at philosophy, sulking most likely, neglecting to fulfill her royal duty and still there were the days when she collapsed in convulsions, shaking and trembling beyond the power of any of them to help her. She was still a foolish child.

"Brother she is young. Too young to have seen what she has seen. It has changed her already and she struggles to bear the burden. Can you not see it?" Angaráto sighed.

"We all bear that burden!" Findaráto said. "But now, of all times, we cannot allow such things to cloud our judgment and overcome our reason. We must remain vigilant. This is the duty of a king. We must not sink under our burdens as the common folk but must rise in greatness in direct proportion to the challenge of our difficulties."

"She is far wiser than you give her credit for." Angaráto said.

"I..." Findaráto, seated himself next to his brother on a fallen log, softening. "I know that she is wise. It is...it is why I push her so. I would not ask of her what I thought she was incapable of delivering. I ask more of her than almost anyone else because I know that she is capable of more than almost anyone else."

"But she does not understand that." Angaráto replied. "Despite her beauty and her youth, you know that she has not led the easiest life. Oftentimes, that is all that people see in her. They do not bother to look beyond the exterior. Can you imagine what it must feel like for others to place their value of you in your hroar rather than in your fea? Forgive me brother, if I seem presumptuous, but I, at least, have observed how it has changed her over the years. It has made her harder, created within her a certain bitterness, a resentment, a cruelty even. She trusts no one. Have you not seen it? She believes that no one takes her opinions seriously."

"I know. You know her better than I do Angaráto. I don't believe I shall ever understand her. Although I try, I find too often that I do not have the patience. Truly, I do wish that she and I might be better friends." Findaráto said, his shoulders slumping. "This is hard on me, on all of us. It is not a time when dissent can be tolerated, even from those that we love."

"Despite that, you know that you are her favorite as she is yours. And, she loves you too brother. Only apologize to her and all will be repaired. Despite her temper and her stubbornness she is probably the most reasonable of all of us, the least likely to hold a grudge, the most likely to forgive, the most open-minded. Regardless, you should not have spoken to her in such a fashion!" Angaráto grasped his brother's arm and Findaráto shook him off, clearly still agitated.

"What am I to do with her? Her…visions…they are getting worse, far worse. Hardly a day goes by anymore when she does not collapse, convulsing. She cannot control them, not in the slightest. I have my doubts, serious doubts, about taking her with me to Menegroth. It may not matter that everyone is sworn to secrecy; it may be that one day she will collapse in one of her fits and divulge the entire secret for everyone to hear. How can we trust her when she could so easily and accidentally betray us?" Findaráto asked, his voice full of both anger and anxiety.

"Brother…" Angaráto said and Findaráto turned, to find his sister standing behind him, her eyes brimming with tears. She had come to make amends and here he had only spoken against her further.

"Artanis…I…" Findaráto stumbled over his words.

"No," she said, raising a hand, "you have said quite enough." And she turned, making her way back to her own tent once more. Findaráto sighed, defeated at last, and raised his hands to his head.

"Brother," Angaráto said, placing his hand on Findaráto's shoulder in a consoling gesture, "I still believe that we ought to be straightforward with Elwe about what occurred with the Teleri but, though I disagree, I will trust your judgment. Father raised you to be a king and a king you are. I am proud to follow you as your brother and I know that your subjects are loyal and have much love for you. That I can vouch for." Angaráto grinned. Such words were a balm to the wound, a blossom at the end of a long winter, but still inadequate to heal the wounds of what they had endured. Nevertheless, it was a step along the right path, however small. Findaráto smiled and grasped his brother's shoulder in thanks and friendship.

"I understand your disagreement brother and at any other time I would entertain your reasoning with more seriousness but I hope that you can understand my decision. It in no way reflects my opinion of you or your intellect. I have always held you in the highest regard, you know that. Truly, truly I do appreciate your support. This is not something that I could have endured without it."

Angaráto rose. "Come brother. Let us go and eat with our people. Let us recall with great fondness our days in Valinor and let us think with joy upon creating these memories anew in this, our new land. The future lies before us, let us not dwell upon the past unless it be with gaity. Even Artanis will come around eventually." Findaráto rose and joined his brother. Tomorrow would mark a new age for elven folk. Tonight they would welcome that future.

Artanis rode at Findaráto's side, and, as the days passed and her brother had sought her forgiveness and she his, there was love between them once more. She was mounted on a white palfrey and of all the riches that the Noldor possessed, she was their finest gem. For Findaráto wished Elu to know that the children of Finarfin came not to live off of his own wealth nor to impose upon his generosity, but as a great and sovereign people seeking merely shelter until a time when they might establish their own realm, at which time they meant to pay him his tithe as was due to him as overlord of Beleriand.

Artanis's golden hair had been plaited into a myriad of braids, arranged in intricate patterns upon her beautiful head, and from that radiance glinted the blood red of rubies and starlike diamonds. Upon her brow was a golden crown fit for a granddaughter of Finwe, from which blazed forth the colored light of a thousand gems. She wore a gown of rich brocaded red velvet stitched with golden threads, the embroidery portraying scenes from the creation of Arda. Over her shoulders was draped a thick mantel of snowy white and upon her feet slippers of gold and glass. But of all her finery, the greatest treasure was her face, for she was fair beyond measure, not the loveliness of a girl, but the bold beauty of a woman who could be both great and terrible.

Findaráto was arrayed no more simply than she and he bore upon his brow a great crown, from which shone the ethereal light of a great stone like a star. And, all those of their small band wore the riches of Arda upon their forms, those clothes that Findaráto had wisely set aside for just this very purpose. But even the gaiety of their costumes could not wholly disguise the great sorrow or toil that they had endured, for though no sign of age was upon them, this was bourn in their eyes.

But the magic of Melian was yet unknown to them and great confusion arose when they found that they could pass no further through the forest. For the way was closed to them, not as a wall, but so that in whichever way they turned they found themselves arriving back in the same place and every path turned back upon itself. The air was permeated by a mist so thick that they could not see through it and furthermore their way was obscured by shadows that concealed the path. The forest became a labyrinth so that eventually they were forced to concede a temporary defeat and make camp there, for they could go no further.

But Melian, in her wisdom, foresaw all things and ere Findaráto had reached the girdle, she had perceived his approach, though no message from him had been received.

Then did Elu Thingol, King of Doriath, Lord of Menegroth, and High King of Beleriand, husband of the Maia, send forth a host to greet the grandson of Finarfin, son of his dearest friend, from whom he had long been separated, to draw within the girdle the children of Finarfin and their peoples, for Melian had advised him that it should be so.

So Celeborn, grandson of the King's brother, though the king himself called him nephew, Prince of Doriath and known as 'the wise' strode forth from the caves with a great band of march wardens under his command. And with him went Luthien, daughter of Thingol and princess of Beleriand, who brought with her a great hound which she had domesticated and under whose protection she was accustomed to travel throughout the realm of her father.

Thingol's people arrayed themselves in the finery of their native garb for it was so that the Sindar cared little for the gems and precious metals of finery, for they preferred instead the beauty of natural things and only donned metal armor when necessitated by war. And so they went in their native custom, born of an ancient and renowned culture, upon their bodies would they bear the fruits of their land and welcome their brethren from across the sea to partake of this earth, their greatest treasure.

The march wardens left their hair unbound and free of trappings save for the feathers which the birds had given to them. The males were bare chested save for the breastplates of slatted bone arranged like the scales of a fish that they customarily wore and the females wore tight fitting vests of leather. Their leggings were of soft cloth, dark green in color, and around their shoulders they wore close-fitting capes of gray that seemed to change color to suit their surroundings so that they were barely distinguishable from the forest itself. It did not do, in the forest, to wear much or loose fitting clothing for not only did it inhibit the movement of the wearer, who needed to be flexible in skirmishes, but it disadvantaged him by providing something by which an enemy or vicious animal might catch hold of an elf and thereby capture or kill him.

With tints of gray and blue they had painted their skin, marking it with the symbols and emblems of their lineage. They wore necklaces of polished stones, leaves, and polished wood, gifts of the forest. They walked barefoot through the forest for their feet were much accustomed to the earth and it to them. They did not misstep nor did they make any noise at all in their movements, long had they dwelt in the forests of this land. Across their backs were great bows, tall as they were and ornately carved, weapons which made death swift and efficient. Their arrows were long, sharp, and swift. Also, slung across their backs were the great battle axes which they had adopted from the dwarves and grown accustomed to using. But these weapons were of mithril, light and slender, with finely honed blades; they were elegant but strong and not made in the heavy manner of dwarven axes.

The prince was dressed as his wardens, with leggings of a rich green and a cloak of grey. He was very tall and well muscled, being neither too thick nor too thin. His skin was painted a smoky green and across the muscles of his bare chest rippled black letters and runes which told the tale of his history. On his bare back was painted a silver tree. His handsome face too, was painted with lines of black kohl, his eyes as green as leaves. Around his neck he wore a collar of Mahogany, polished to the highest sheen and inlaid with cherry wood in the design of leaves. Across his back lay his great bow and his quiver. With these was his axe, a fine and deadly instrument engraved with the design of trees and woodland creatures. He wore no crown, no circlet, no diadem, for he did not need to. His hair was of the purest silver, long, bright and shining like the stars themselves, living mark of royalty, a prince of Elu's line. It was unadorned save for two long black feathers which the lord of the ravens had given, in tribute for his wisdom.

The princess Luthien too, was arrayed in such a manner for the Eluwain did not distinguish male warriors from the female. Though she had not painted her whole body but only had written the poetry of her lineage upon her arms with blackest kohl which contrasted startlingly with her fair white skin, and she wore a close fitting long gray vest of fine silk and leather. Her hair was not the silver of her father Elu, but the midnight color of her mother and she wore it simply. Her eyes were the grey of evening, bright and full with the magic of her Maian mother. Very beautiful she was, the fairest of those in Beleriand.

At dusk they came upon the encampment of the Noldor but they did not approach immediately, observing from afar and growing worried as they saw that the elves were gathering brush to light fires. This was a very dangerous thing because fires and cooking in the open could draw orcs and unfriendly animals as they were not yet within the safety of Melian's girdle. Werewolves and vampires were known to exist in these parts.

At last the Eluwain descended from the trees for they had seen that their kin were tired from much toil, in need of rest, healing, and proper food. Celeborn and Luthien came forth, leading their people, who emerged as ghosts from the forest. But the Noldor did not greet them with open arms. For, when the exiles saw the strange creatures which had come from the trees they were struck with fright, not knowing what they were and seeing only their savage appearance.

Thus a great shouting and screaming arose while the people fled in all directions and Celeborn, perceiving that many of them were making for the forest and knowing the danger of this region at night, bid his wardens quickly to prevent these people from making their escape. But the Noldor were mad with fright and many of them drew weapons upon those who sought to prevent their flight and the Eluwain were bewildered that one of the eldar should thus threaten another.

Luthien called out to their wardens in their tongue and bid them remain calm but even she grew wary at this strange behavior from their cousins. And even her hound raised his hackles for he sensed a change in the air. Then did they hear a great shout in a strange language, a voice nearly as deep as a man's but with a tone as beautiful as music, rise up and the Noldor were pacified and calmed themselves, sheathing their weapons and abandoning their flight to return to the side of their lady.

For there, at the edge of the encampment, had emerged a woman as great and terrible as the dawn itself. A mighty queen did she look, arrayed in fine clothes of red and white, gemstones of all colors glittering in the circlet which graced her fine head. Tall she was, even for one of the eldar, and so quickly and nimbly had she moved that, though she wore a queen's robes, the Eluwain knew that she was strong and athletic. Her face was beautiful beyond that of any they had ever seen, save Luthien and Melian herself, but her hair was her most magnificent glory. It was of dark gold, shining as if it emitted its own light, and piled on her fair head in the most elaborate of designs, pinned with rubies and diamonds.

At her words did her people grow calm and remember themselves and, in the matter of a moment, she had restored order to what had threatened to be bloody violence. Then did Celeborn of Doriath look upon this great lady and, to him, she seemed more beautiful and radiant even than Melian, though he cared not for the finery of her clothes or jewels. But most of all he was struck by the evident strength of her. For he had seen that these people had, for a long while, been on the verge of an abyss, about to plunge into utter chaos and mutiny, having suffered more than he could comprehend. But, at the moment in which these deadly tensions had at last threatened to overwhelm them all she had, with only a few words, caught them from the edge of the blade, the dark abyss, and single-handedly returned them to safety. Then did he know that she was indeed wise and powerful, and he admired her. And Luthien, daughter of Thingol, did look upon her cousin and she saw that his eyes were filled with wonder and with awe as he beheld for the first time Artanis, princess of the Noldor.

A great commotion had arisen in the camp, causing Artanis to abandon her tent. Her mind told her what her intuition had already known, that finally her worst fears had been realized and her people, so worn from all they had suffered, had at last broken under the weight of the terrors she had experienced. As she exited her tent she was buffeted by the stream of elves running in every direction, frenzied as wild animals. She looked around for her brothers but could see them nowhere, doubtless they were still arguing amongst themselves, slow to realize what was happening to their people.

But Artanis knew she needed them not, for hers was the lineage of kings and, arrogant though they called her, she was well aware that she was among the greatest of the eldar and equal of her brothers. She had seen enough of violence, enough of madness, enough of this sorrow and breaking! Thus did confidence come into her and she knew that she must stop this madness and return her people to themselves. Furiously, she strode forward. By her command, this would stop now and it would stop forever! Feanor's advances, the lust over the Silmarils, the slaying of her mother's kin, the rape of the Teleri's ships, the guilt and shame, the suffering and sadness! All of it! She had endured enough and she refused to endure it anymore! Now! It would stop now!

With long quick strides she reached the edge of the camp and saw her people fleeing into the trees where danger might await them. And then was she greatly surprised because she saw now why they were fleeing. From the trees had emerged a strange and fey people. Savage did they look and deadly for they were dressed as she imagined heathens might dress. The males were clad only in leggings and capes the colors of the trees, the females the same but for the addition of a long closely fitted tunic, and their feet were bare. Their bodies were painted with all manner of strange signs with the hues of the forest and they wore feathers in their hair with necklaces made of carved bone, bits of polished wood, and pebbles. But though they looked fierce, a voice spoke to her from across the wind, telling her that these were Elu's people, the Eluwain, and that they meant no harm.

She heard a sonorous voice cry out in a strange tongue and saw, leaping from a tall tree and running into the clearing, swift as a deer, a very tall elf, skin tinted with shades of dusky green and black, his hair long and silver, like the starry tail of a comet in the night sky, with strange runic letters in black across his broad chest. His garb was the same as the others but, despite the fact that he wore no crown, his hair bespoke his nobility and she knew him for the prince of that realm, Celeborn of whom she had heard, for had he been Thingol he perhaps would have called to her people in their own language to halt their flight, rather than to his own warriors. A great axe and bow lay across his back and she saw that he was strong. Then did he look upon her with deep green eyes and even at this distance she could see the strength and wisdom in his gaze. She saw that he was amazed at her and surprised for she had no doubt that a certain ferocity still lit her visage. And though he appeared savage and brutal to her, she looked into his mind and saw that he was both wise and good.

At his words his warriors had skirted the perimeter of the clearing but she saw that, in their terror, her people were brandishing weapons at their bewildered cousins, who were only trying to keep them from fleeing into the danger of the forest. Then another cry issued forth, a high and musical voice that sounded like a song and she saw that a beautiful dark-haired girl with skin like snow had come to the side of the prince, one even more beautiful than herself, and she assumed that this could me none other than Luthien herself, daughter of Thingol and Melian the Maia. At the woman's words the savage elves calmed themselves. Then did Artanis call out to her own people.

"Calm yourselves and be still for I command it! These are your kinsmen who mean you no harm!" And immediately did her people remember themselves, returning to her side and laying down their arms. Artanis grew aware that her brother had joined her as well, though he remained silent. Then Elu's people gathered their host unto themselves and came forth to greet their long lost kin.

"Hail children of Finarfin! In the name of Elu Thingol and his queen, Melian, we greet you!" Called the dark-haired beauty as she came forward, her hand raised in greeting and a fair smile upon her face. The Noldor were amazed for she spoke in Quenya of the highest and most noble sort. At her side was the silver-haired one and a great wolfhound. Then did her host sink down upon one knee to honor their kinsmen.

"Well met and may the blessings of Eru be upon you my cousins! I am Luthien, Princess of Doriath and High Princess of Beleriand, Daughter of Elwe and Melian, his Maian queen. And, this," she gestured to the silver elf, "is Celeborn Galadhonian, called the wise, Prince of Doriath, an accomplished warrior and senior-most councilor of my father. The blessing of our king and queen is upon you and Melian has granted you permission to pass beyond the enchantments of our realm into Menegroth, our Capital city, where you shall find the refuge and healing that you seek. Tonight we shall bring you there and, when you have rested, we shall lay before you a great feast and come to know each other once more, as we did of old!"

The silver-haired prince bowed to them and they knew by it that he did not understand their language. And all were enchanted by the benevolent words of the maiden. Then did Artafinde step forth. Fair he was, as though the light of the sun were upon his brow and hair of richest gold hung past his slender but strong shoulders. He wore a great crown encrusted with gems and the finery of a king. Exceedingly tall he was, graceful and slender. His eyes were of soft gray and they sparkled in joy now, though sorrow lurked within them. "Hail Luthien, daughter of our kinsman Elwe! Grateful are we for your kind words and the happy welcome of your honored king!

I am Artafinde, a prince of Aman, son of Arafinwë and Earwen, the daughter of Olwe, your kinsman, and grandson of Finwë, High King of the Noldor, and Indis, Princess of the Vanyar. This is my sister Artanis Finarfiniel." Then did the host of the Noldor take knee and bow their heads in reverent acknowledgment before all rose and Luthien led them through the barrier of the girdle and into Beleriand itself.

"Forgive us, brothers and sisters," she said as they walked, "for in the long years that we have dwelt in this land, before the coming of the sun, we have spoken in our own language and there are not many who know the tongue of their forbearers. Yet there are some who understand: myself, the king and queen, and there are many who know at least a little. The prince," she gestured at the one called Celeborn, "understands more than he would acknowledge, for he is humble. But you may find among our people a resistance to it for we consider our own tongue to be equally as beautiful and there are many who would see the adoption of another language as an insult to their own sovereignty."

"It is meet and good," began Artafinde, quickly understanding what the Princess implied, "that as guests in the realm of your most generous father and our kinsman, we learn to speak in the tongue of those who so graciously welcome us. And what should we profit to deny learning that is offered to us freely? You are advantaged, Lady, that your people already have a little knowledge of our tongue, for yours is completely foreign to us and I find that, of what little I have heard, I have but a weak understanding. Yet, my people are quick to understand and I am sure that they will learn very swiftly. Indeed, my sister was quick to comprehend the language of the green elves."

"And my people should certainly like to learn the language of their cousins from across the sea. For it is very beautiful and carries with it much history. Furthermore, the desire to converse with ones from whom we have long been sundered is very great and I know that my people wait in eager anticipation to embrace you!" Luthien replied, her laugh as of delicate bells, clear and bright.

Though Artanis gave heed and council to the words that passed between Luthien and her brother, her attention was more drawn to the Prince. From the very first, his foreign ways had drawn her interest, for it seemed inherently paradoxical that he should be both so savage and so wise, yet she had seen each in him and not as mutually exclusive traits, but effortlessly blended into the fabric of his being. At the moment he could be seen moving through the treetops, leaping from branch to branch, lithely and gracefully walking that road between the heavens and earth with just as much security as if he had been on the ground itself. Indeed, he seemed perhaps even more secure on his tenuous pathway than he did when walking upon the earth. And those of his people who had joined him in the trees moved with the same grace and surety. Every now and again he would glance down at Artanis with a boyish grin and she could see that he had a curious temperament indeed. She smiled back up at him and heard him laugh.

"How is it," Artanis queried of the Princess, "that he is able to do such a thing." Tinuviel raised her heavenly eyes to the canopy above her.

"I see that you are amazed!" She said. "But among our people this is an ordinary thing and something which we learn even in the earliest days of our youth. For we dwell closely with nature here and we do not seek to shut her out of our houses and confine her to the out of doors as the dwarves do. Rather, you will find that even within the great halls of our palace the plants and weeds, flowers, and great roots of trees sometimes burrow through the stone or navigate their way through the cracks of the stone and earth. This is not considered to be unclean and they are not cleared away or burned out, but welcomed and nurtured for they are the gifts of Eru and what Eru wills grows where he, not we, shall ordain." At this the great hound nuzzled at the hand of the Noldorin lady for he saw that she was kind, good, and of an open mind. She reached out and touched his proffered head with a smile, feeling his soft ears and wiry fur.

"Though quite different from what I am accustomed to, this seems a beautiful thing to me and I would learn much of this way of thinking if I am able." Artanis said, for as always, she was intensely curious. "But I pray you, speak to me more of the Prince, for as I observe him I find that his ways are both strange and interesting to me." Luthien laughed again at the Noldo's words.

"Greatly would he be amused by your words Lady Artanis, for he believes himself to be quite ordinary in all the ways of our people. He is very wise, prized above all others for his wisdom by my Lord and Lady, and not given to fits of pride. Though I must warn you, and perhaps you have heard, that there are elves and then there are elves. We are all the children of Eru and he loves not one more than the other, but it may be said with truth that those of this land are perhaps more dangerous and prone to strong temper than those of your land. For you must remember that even as we are Eru's children, so are we the children of the earth and the dangers of this land have required of us a different set of skills than, perhaps, has the peace of your land required of you. My prince is no exception to this and, though he is the wisest of our kind save for the queen, he is also very dangerous and can be frightful in his anger, when provoked." Here she paused and raised her hand in greeting for though Celeborn understood them not, he seemed to know that he was the topic of discussion and had paused to look at them with an amused smile before darting ahead again.

"This is so," Luthien continued, "because just as we are born of this land, a thing which causes us to be perhaps more quick in temper, we are also in constant communion with the earth, for we are its guardians and keepers, just as it guards and keeps us. Yet you have perceived well and correctly, Lady Artanis, for though he might deny it, Celeborn, from among all our people, is exceptionally favored by this earth and he spends much time in speaking to the trees and the land. Long have they been companions and he prefers their company to that of any of the Eldar. And well, should you come to know him, will you see the evidence of this friendship within him. For the speech of trees is slow and given to the most abstract of thoughts, which to many of us may appear to be only half-formed. Much has he learned from them and often are these patterns visible in him. Indeed," she laughed, "it is most amusing that you should find him so intriguing, for he has been exceedingly curious to meet with your people since first we heard of your arrival."

"Then, I think," said Artanis, "that I should very much like to know him." But here was their conversation ended for they had come to a great cliff and there, in the wall of it, were great and beautiful gates.

"Hail Menegroth, seat of Elwe, called Elu Thingol, and Melian, Maian Queen!" Called Luthien Tinuviel. The hound bayed joyfully and the Prince, leaping down from the trees, called to his people in their own tongue. Then did all pass through the gates and marvel at the beauty therein and Artafinwe was most enchanted of all, marveling at the beauty of the great caves for it kindled in his heart a desire to create a realm such as this and to rule it by his own hand in the place that Ulmo himself had shown to him.


	4. Chapter 4: The Gifts of a King

Author's note: I would like to say thank you to everyone who has been reading so far. I have been writing this story for almost a decade and only recently got around to posting it. I hope that you enjoy and, of course, I would be delighted to hear any comments that you might have. Best regards!

The Gifts of a King

Doriath: 4th Chapter

"The first method for estimating the intelligence of a ruler

is to look at the men he has around him."

– _Machiavelli_

It came to pass that, their people being generously settled into luxurious apartments which were to remain theirs for as long as they should like, the prince and his sister were at last summoned to the great court of Elu himself. Once more did they prepare themselves in their finery and ready themselves to meet the great king, brother of their great grandfather, who had heretofore only been known to them in legend. And the stuff of legend this seemed indeed, as if they had fallen through some wrinkle in Arda to walk the hallowed ground of lands imagined only in fairytales.

It was Luthien herself who came to them, dressed not in the garb of the forest, but in the courtly manner of the Eluwain which was very different from the heavy richness and modesty of the Noldor tradition. Her gown was long and close-fitting, of a gauzy film-like material that seemed nearly transparent, and it had no sleeves but instead showed the beauty of her slender white arms. The color of it Findaráto would have called a pale amethyst but for the fact that it seemed so natural it could not be described as having the hues of gems. Rather, it more closely mirrored the dusky violet of the sky in the hour just before the appearance of the stars. Her dark hair hung in loose waves to her slim waist and upon her brow was a simple circlet of silver from which there shone forth a single stone, small as a distant star but bright as the glory of a comet.

"The Lord and Lady of the Eluwain eagerly await your presence!" She said, her radiant smile the most beautiful of all her trappings. Then did she lead them through the beautiful halls of Menegroth to the throne room of her King and Queen. There were no gates here for all were free to come and go as they pleased, only the march wardens stood at the entrance, dressed in the same manner as previously, to greet them courteously as they arrived. And as they passed through Artanis thought she saw one that she had met before, Mablung, standing at attention.

The hall itself was magnificent in its splendor. For though it was made of stone they would not have believed it was a cave had they not been told. It seemed as though, instead, they had stepped out into the middle of the forest itself and Findaráto was astounded once more at the skill of these people, the slow makings of a fire growing within his chest, the impetus of his ambitions.

The rock, marble of all colors, sandstone, limestone, granite, and many other varieties that they had never seen, was carved with the highest skill and in the most intricate detail so that the stone trees appeared as if they lived and breathed and grew just as surely as the ones above the ground. And upon their branches hung lamps of silver from which flickered forth soft flames. Yet even within the stone house nature had made her home, just as Luthien had said, for moss of many beautiful colors grew softly upon the ground and stones and many of the roots of marble trees were interspersed with those, which had grown up through the floor, of the trees in whose image they had been made.

And the underground streams had been diverted here so that they ran through the false creeks that had been carved in the floor, moss growing thick along the banks, and the clear sparkling water full of fish of bright iridescent oranges, yellows, blues, reds and golds, which were very beautiful with long flowing fins and quite astonishingly large. Amongst the trees and on the banks of these streams wandered the Eluwain, dressed in clothes similar to that which their princess wore, though of plainer make. And they were bedecked with the soft browns, greens, and grays of the forest, and in the lavenders and blues of the twilight. They bowed gently as the Noldor passed. The elves of the twilight the Sindar were sometimes called and well it could be seen that they were her eponymous children.

There too, wandered the creatures of the wood, tawny fawns still with their white spots and gray squirrels, unusually gentle badgers and soft white rabbits, and they saw that these too came and went as they pleased, for they were not domesticated but wild, though they wandered here in a King's halls. Looking up, Artanis beheld the vaulted ceiling, a seven-layer heaven that perfectly mirrored the night sky. The whole hall had the appearance of a mystical woodland on the verge of nightfall.

Then did they behold the most splendid thing of all in that most splendid of kingly halls. At the far end was a dais, like a small moss-covered hill with two thrones fashioned from living trees and in the boles of these trees sat the king and queen who were beautiful beyond compare and beyond the power of her imagination to have conjured in her thoughts ere she saw them.

Luthien lead the Noldor forward to the foot of the dais, whereupon they sank to the floor, bowing low before the King and Queen. Then did the princess, in the language of the Eluwain, tell her Royal parents and the people gathered there, of the lineage of their guests, how their great-grandfather was Finwe, King of the Noldor and fastest friend of Elu Thingol, how their mother was Earwen, high princess of the Teleri and daughter of Thingol's own younger brother, Olwe, and of their weary tale of crossing the grinding ice, a tale of woe and sorrow and loss, which Artafinwe had related to her. She wove the threads of the story together into a fine cloth as of a gossamer, shining in beauty yet fragile with sorrow, and all were astounded by it as they gasped and fell into mournful silence throughout, sharing vicariously in the sufferings of their kin. When she had finished, she swept with gliding grace to the side of her mother and seated herself there upon the knoll.

Artanis saw that at the other side of the dais, seated at the foot of the king, was the prince, Celeborn, but he was dressed quite differently now. He wore a simple silver, almost white, tunic, though its style was markedly different than any she had seen before, of embroidered silk with long, broad sleeves. His leggings were of a plain gray weave and his feet were still bare. Over his shoulders was draped a velvet mantle of dark green. His hair was long and unbound but he now wore a plain silver circlet which, like Luthien's, bore a single clear stone. No longer was he painted and Artanis saw that his skin, though fair and unblemished, was darker than her own, weathered by the sun. For the color of his hair and raiment was pure silver as a naked blade unsheathed. He seemed both wise and fell, other-worldly yet vibrantly alive and she wondered at his brutal majesty, for when she looked upon him she knew not whether it was fear or wonder that stirred her breast. Across his knees lay his great battle axe, with a blade as silver as ice yet strong enough to cleave bone.

Then the King and Queen stood, grave and beautiful. Great wisdom was upon them and their eyes were as keen as lances in the starlight. Elu Thingol was the tallest of all the Eldar and his hair was as long and bright as his nephew's, of purest silver. He wore long robes of deep blue, fine brocaded silk, and a silver necklace whose many strands twined like vines about his neck. His mantle was gray as the evening and beautiful, for it almost seemed to take on the colors of the forest around him. Over his shoulders was draped the snow-white pelt of a wolf, one of the evil creatures who had attacked his people and been slain by Luthien's valiant hounds. His face was exceedingly handsome, his features well formed and a certain intensity in his sea blue eyes. Upon his brow was a circlet of green leaves, beautiful but simple in its elegance, for it was summer now.

There was a majestic power and regal tone about him and when Artanis looked into his heart she saw that he was a good and benevolent king, wise and, though sometimes rash in his anger, beloved by his people. As she did this, the queen looked upon her, both startled and wondering, for she saw that this Noldorin princess, like herself, was gifted with the extraordinary and terrible power of foresight.

Then did the Maia look into the eyes of the Valinorean maid and Artanis perceived her in all her beauty. The Lady's hair was dark as night, so dark that when the light shone upon it, it seemed nearly blue as the deepest ocean. Her skin was dusky yet as luminescent as the harvest moon and her eyes were the hues of the crepuscular sky. Her gown was of a deep indigo silk, light and airy, that clung to her form and trailed upon the ground as of the waves of the ocean. Its sleeves were long and fitted to her arms but her shoulders were bare, beautiful alabaster. Her face was the fairest of all there assembled, with bold stunning features, large mystical all-knowing eyes that still bore within them images of the creation of the world. Her dark brows were like the wings of delicate black birds. Her beauty was elegant but it was not fragile; it was almost frightening. There was a great power about her, as powerful as the foundations of the earth she was, and she did not need the starry golden circlet upon her fair head to signify to all that she was a mighty queen, the equal of her husband in both power and wisdom. Her eyes pierced Artanis' and she heard the lady speak within her mind.

_Welcome Artanis, called Nerwen, daughter of Finarfin and Earwen, much awaits you here. For this is the beginning of great things for you._ And Artanis was shaken, for she had only given Luthien her father name and knew not how the queen had learned that bestowed upon her by her mother.

"Kinsman, kinswoman, friends," Thingol began, his voice deep and rolling as waves upon the sand, "Long ago, in the depths of the forest, was I separated from my friends and brother, your forefathers. Happily did I make my home here, besides my queen, and long have we dwelt beneath the eaves of this forest. Sorry and deeply grieved am I to hear of all that you have suffered in crossing the Helcaraxe as well as the destruction of those two trees whom I loved, but may you and your host rest now and find solace. Glad I am that, at long last, I have met all of the children of Finarfin, son of Finwe, who is dear to my heart, more brother than friend, and I welcome you as though you were my own children!"

"Come," he invited, "and live as one with my people for you shall find that, though we may be very different in some ways, we have many skills and lessons which we can teach to each other and our union may be prosperous and fortuitous for all. I have heard from my daughter, the Princess Luthien, that you are eager to explore this world and make new homes for yourselves within it. This is well! For there are many things here which will be pleasing to you and bring you great delight; the land is a gift to share with all, especially with our kin, whom we love best. But I would counsel that you dwell here with my people for a while yet and learn of this land from their mouths and their hands, for not only is nature itself possessed of a certain brutality, but this land is also unlike that from which you come and there are evil and foul things that dwell here. First you should learn of their history and the ways of combatting them before you venture forth so that you may keep safe those who will follow you. Yet, if there are some who wish to remain here, know that all the days of the earth shall you have a home in Menegroth and be treated as one of our own, for such do we consider you."

The words of Thingol were great and wise and all were overjoyed at hearing them. Truly, thought the Noldor of Findaráto retinue, though he had lived so long in darkness, and though his subjects wanted for refining, he was the equal of Finwe and Olwe. Then did the queen speak once more, her voice deeper than a woman's wont, but clear and musical as the nightingale.

"Rest my dear friends and find peace. May your sojourn heal your hearts and bodies and minds for you are weak with sorrow and much toil. Later the King and I would beg you to take audience with us and tell us of many things which have not yet been spoken so that we may better know your history, your people, your culture, and your suffering. It has been a long while indeed since either he or I were in your native land and we would be glad to hear tidings of that place. And in all ways we shall assist you for there are many things you must learn of this place so that you may dwell happily here. Now, as a token of our friendship and goodwill, I present to each of you, with the leave of my King, a gift of immeasurable value so that all may know of the kinship that exists between the children of Finwe and the people of Elwe." Then did she step down from the dais so that she might speak with them both.

First she came to Findaráto and, taking his hands in her own, she said, "Findaráto, in the tongue of our people, if it is meet with you, you shall be known as 'Finrod.'" Finrod bowed his head in reverence to the lady.

"Gladly would I be known as Finrod in the tongue of your people my Lady, for already have I seen that both the language and the people who speak it are exceeding in beauty and kindness." So spake he and Melian smiled at his gracious words.

"Then here is my gift to you, Finrod Finarfinian." She gestured to the prince and he came forward to stand at her side. Though he was very tall, Artanis saw, taller than her brother, the queen was taller still. "I give to you, as a gift, the council of my nephew, Chief Councillor of Elu and Crown Prince of Doriath, Celeborn the Wise. For, though he is young, he is the wisest of all the elves of Middle Earth save the King and myself." At this a wry grin ghosted across the face of both the Prince and the Queen and Finrod saw that this had been a matter of jest between them. "His council is valued above all others and his words are wise beyond their years. Moreover, his knowledge of this land is unparalleled, even by the King himself, for in his youth he spent many a year traversing middle earth and befriending all whom he encountered. In all manners he shall be willing to aid you and he can tell you much that you would want and need to know. Should you seek to establish your own realm his advice will be of the greatest value to you."

"My Lady, Prince Celeborn," Finrod said, with a deep bow. Celeborn bowed to him and they clasped hands as brothers before the prince withdrew to stand once more beside the King.

Then, she came to Artanis and took her hands, kissing her on each cheek as a sister. "Youngest of Finarfin's children, Artanis have you been called and Artanis you shall remain, for now. A new name soon awaits you but it is not my place to give it. This is my gift to you, Artanis. I would have you take your place as one of my handmaidens and as my student, that you might learn the ways of my people. For you shall one day be a queen and it is good for a queen to know much of her subjects. By my hand will I hone your gift of foresight and the great power that I perceive within you for a long and difficult path lies ahead of you. And you will have much need of these gifts for among the queens of Middle Earth, you will be the greatest and you shall rule as I do, beside, not behind, a king who is great, wise, and your equal in every way."

Then did the Lady Artanis bow to Melian the Maia and all marveled at her beauty and at the queen's prophecy. For they knew that, truly, all that Melian saw came to pass. But Celeborn's heart grew troubled, for Melian had entered his mind and he had seen her gaze, her penetrating eyes behind the veil of his own.

When first he had seen that lady step forth into the forest, her fea had shone forth so brightly that he had hardly been able to look upon her, and he had been amazed, as though he looked upon some entirely new horizon for the first time. She had been as the coming of the sun to middle earth, so radiant and magnificent and unexpected that, having looked upon her, the entire world now seemed painted in hues that he had not heretofore seen, and he had half expected that her burning light would consume him. Yet he was drawn to her like a boat upon the rocks and found himself entirely unable to extricate himself from his predicament, or from her siren's song.

For he desired only peace and the eternal reign of his King, Elu Thingol, but Artanis was destined for greatness and to rule by one who was a king in his own right, as Melian had proclaimed. And if this were so then that king of which she had spoke could certainly not be him, for he was Thingol's prince and a prince he was bound to remain unless some great evil were to befall the King and Luthien his daughter. But he could no sooner stop himself from loving Artanis than he could hold back the tide and so he wondered if the Queen's words had meant that this Noldorin lady was destined for some other who was not he and, if that were so, then he read in her coming his own destruction and the wreckage of his heart upon the shoals of spurned love.

Yet his heart shuddered as if it had been caught in a sudden chill breeze, for there was yet another meaning to contemplate, more terrible than any thought he had ever considered, and the dread of it threatened to overwhelm him. That fell thought was the possibility that he was, in fact, that King of which Melian spoke, but what evil would have to befall them all for such a thing to be true! For Celeborn well knew that the only way he as a prince would ever come to the throne himself was if all whom he loved, all that he knew perished; that Doriath sink into destruction and the line of Elu Thingol be erased from this earth until no trace of it remained.

Yet it seemed that none of the others there were plagued by such dark thoughts, or else they had not read in Melian's words the foreboding of their meaning and so, seeing that all had been done according to what was good, Thingol clapped his hands and, from amongst the trees came servants bearing all manner of food and wine on heavily laden trays which they set upon low tables that they had brought. Then did all of the Noldor and all of the Eluwain enter the great hall and seat themselves upon the enchanted forest floor, where they set about eating, drinking, making merry, and learning the ways of each other.

The children of Finarfin sat with the King and Queen and with the Prince and Princess, where they were joined by Melian's handmaidens as well as Luthien's beloved dogs, which were very polite and did not snatch at the food but graciously accepted what was offered to them. Artanis delighted in the creatures and spoke at length with Luthien, Melian, and her maidens, during which time they taught her a little of their language. And, though she could feel the weight of the prince's eyes upon her, he did not speak to her, nor to anyone, but remained at the foot of Thingol's chair companioned only by a glass of wine. Then, after they had all spent much time in merrymaking, Thingol spoke.

"You have traveled very far and you must certainly be weary, for surely you have endured many trials. And we have many questions and desire to know many things about your journey and about the phenomena that we have recently witnessed. But now is not the time; For the star traveler is already in the sky and, while my people, who prefer the night, shall continue their feasting, I know that you are more accustomed to wake during the hours of the golden light. But, after you have rested well, I shall call you before me and those whom I trust the most. Then you will recount your story in full and answer our questions."

"Many long seasons did we live here alone in darkness, but the world is changing and we feel it in the very earth itself. Its whisperings are those of doom and, while we feast tonight, let us not delude ourselves in thinking that this is merely a reuniting of long lost kin. Tonight reminds us keenly of the passage of time which, though we be not subject to death or illness as the birds and beasts of this land are, alters our lives nonetheless. But nay, friends, kinsmen," he laughed, "I have been too dismal for the merriment has fled from your faces as quickly as the ephemeral spring blossoms. Forget my words, for these are the things of tomorrow, but tonight is a moment to be treasured. Go now, I bid you all, and sleep soundly. Take comfort and be not worried, for Menegroth is a place of safety and of comfort. May it serve you well."

Then did the children of Finarfin rise and, wearily but well-satisfied, make their way to the comfortable quarters that had been prepared for them. There they at last lay down and, well satisfied with food and drink and comfort, found some measure of rest.

But there was one in Menegroth who, despite the comfort of his feather bed and the heady wine he had indulged in, could find no measure of sleep for Celeborn of Doriath had looked upon Artanis Finarfinian and it seemed to him that her image had been seared into his memory, painted like a fresco onto his eyelids so that each time he closed his eyes he saw her there in vibrant color, dancing amongst the stars, more radiant than all of them. A small smile flitted across his face as he closed his eyes crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back into the pillow, his fear and trepidation at the queen's dark prophecy momentarily forgotten in that wellspring of love and affection that so often takes complete possession of a person when first the fall in love.

_Galadriel_ he had called her in his mind, for Artanis seemed an inadequate name for such a lady. So the rumors had been true after all: that there was not a man alive who did not find her irresistible; all of his efforts to remain immune to her allure had crumbled at his feet instantaneously and here she had easily breached every one of his defenses without uttering so much as a word to him. Her hair looked as though it had been spun from pure morning sunlight, her eyes the azure of the clearest lake, lit with an ethereal light. He had never before thought of the morning as lovely but yes, she was beautiful, more beautiful than they had said, more beautiful even than he could ever have imagined and true, he had been awestruck by her beauty, had been unable to keep his eyes from straying to her throughout the evening, but it was not her beauty, but her remarkable strength and fortitude that had chiefly captured his interest and laid bare the fortress of his heart.

He could not now recall what he had expected a Noldorin lady to be like; demure, soft-spoken, a shrinking violet perhaps. Whatever preconceptions he had had had been wiped from his memory at first sight of the golden haired maiden in the clearing who had risen to command as if she had been born to it. The fire in her eyes had lit his heart aflame and the strength in her voice had kindled that fire.

The beauty of her fea was like a naked blade, strong and elegant, beautiful and deadly, an aid to friends and a dealer of death to foes. Her people had all seemed wearied and worn with much toil, yet no sign of fatigue had lain upon her soul. If anything, the trials she had endured seemed to inflame her, to challenge her; this was a woman who was tempered by fire, not destroyed by it.

He recalled that day when first he and Beleg had received word of the coming of the Noldor, how the two of them had laughed and made merry and desired to see this daughter of Finarfin. But oh! How could he ever have imagined that she would be like this!

He lay awake imagining all of the things he wished to say to this Noldorin lady, how he might best pay her a compliment, which words he could use to draw forth that exquisite fire once more, in what way he might make known to her his intentions or ask for her hand, for he was quite determined by now that he would court her if she would allow it. The hours passed as he lay lost in his thoughts but by and by he recalled that he could not speak her language nor she his but the affection he bore her already caused him to consider that mayhap he could learn a little bit of Quenya and he left to find some notes that Thingol had written for him on the language a long time ago, returning with them to his bed, and when at last the sun set and the moon rose again he found that he had not slept a wink.

The Eluwain were quite different than Artanis had imagined though they were, indeed, as savage as she had anticipated, but it was not a barbaric sort of savagery that is unaccompanied by learning, as she had thought it would be. Instead, it was a sort of rawness that she had not yet experienced and there was something about it that thrilled her in the utmost, spurred a certain yearning within her heart. For even but a few scarce weeks had shown her that there was much here to be discovered and she was no longer so secure in her own culture, for she knew not the way of doing things here and there was much yet to be understood that she did not comprehend.

Thus it was with considerable trepidation that she sat as Melian's other handmaidens darted about her like minnows, chattering in their language that she could hardly understand, preparing her to perform a dance that she wholeheartedly did not wish to do. She would never forgive Finrod, ever, for having volunteered her for a task that she felt wholly incapable of performing.

So inspired had her brother been by Luthien's fantastic dance that evening as the people of Menegroth had lounged about in the expansive living adamantine forest of Thingol's great hall that he had called out to Thingol saying; "My King! Marvelous and full of beauty are the dances of your kingdom! Indeed, I find my heart struck with wonderment at having beheld such a spectacle, yet that very wonderment is due in greater part, perhaps, to the nearly incomparable beauty of the Princess Luthien, who is as radiant as a moonbeam. Yet I would raise a challenge!"

"For if Luthien is as the night then my sister is as the day and she too, in our native land, is renowned for her dancing though our dance be strange and foreign to you. So let Melian's ladies take my sister and attire her properly and we shall hold a contest to see whether the sun or the moon shall prevail!"

"My dear prince!" Thingol cried in response with a great laugh. "Such an event could hardly be called a contest for my people number the greater here and each one of them, I am assured, is far more enchanted by the beauties of the night than those of the day." And having so said he leaned back in his throne with a great measure of self-assurance while Melian imparted in Sindarin what had transpired.

"I would not be so hasty to dismiss Artanis Finarfiniel if I were you my Lord!" Finrod chucked.

"But very well," Thingol made reply with a grin and a nod of his head. "We have not your style of clothing but let Melian's ladies take your sister and dress her in the dancing costumes of our people, then she and my daughter may dance, each to their own music, and we shall determine by popular accolade which of the two shall be the winner!" And Luthien laughed and clapped at her father's words, for it all sounded like great fun to her, but Artanis could already feel the nervous sweat beading on her skin like dew and the heat from her flushed face.

"Finrod…no…I…" she pleaded in a whisper, placing a hand on his arm, but her brother turned and caught her hands in his, excitement illuminating his eyes.

"It will be great fun Artanis! And besides, is there any better way to win the people's affection and endear yourself to them? You love to dance do you not?"

But that was all that passed between them before Melian's maidens hurried her off to a dressing room, running in and out as they brought all manner of costumes and jewelry, trying each on her in turn with all of the enthusiasm of children dressing a doll, at last deciding on a creamy silk trimmed in elegant golden embroidery with pearls. The fabric was as thin as gossamer, so thin in fact that she felt almost naked. The pants reached up to her waist and down almost as far as her ankles, being loose throughout the garment but tightly fitted at the ankles and waist.

They dressed her also in a sort of sleeveless bodice of stiff creamy silk that was cut just below her breasts, leaving her entire midriff exposed, with a scoop neck so low and tight fitting that she worried she could hardly move at all without indecently revealing herself. To the shoulder of this bodice they pinned a richly embroidered length of silk that they pleated and wrapped about her body, fastening it at her waist with a belt of hammered gold and pearls.

About her neck they hung gold necklaces of various lengths and onto her ankles and wrists they slid dozens of golden bangles and strings of tiny bells. They combed her hair out long, freeing it from the constraining braids she had styled it in, and on her head they placed an ornate golden headdress decorated with white blossoms. Her face they painted in an exotic manner, with rouge at her cheeks and soft white powder for her face, her eyes they rimmed in black kohl, her lips they painted with a red tincture.

And, when at last she looked at herself in the mirror that they offered her, she found not that she faced a stranger, but rather, that she was presented with an aspect of herself, a prism almost, that she had never known existed: a Noldorin girl in Sindarin clothing; a self that she had never imagined she could be, yet now that she saw it she found that she could not look away and a smile slowly began to spread across her face. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon she shrugged of concern and worry. Perhaps she could fit in here after all. At any rate, she thought, standing, she would dazzle them with her dancing, not the staid and rigid dances of the Noldor that she despised, nor the mysterious and exotic ones of the Sindar that she could not hope to imitate, but the wild and fiery ones of her heart, the ones she had danced by herself as a young maiden in the gardens of Lorien.

So it was with her head held high and an abundance of confidence in her step that the most beautiful daughter of Finwe's house followed Melian's cheerful maidens back towards the great hall and the raucous cheer that rose up as she entered brought a grin to her lips. She fixed her gaze upon the end of the hall where Melian, Thingol, and Luthien stood applauding and even Finrod had risen to his feet in amazement, laughing in pleased incredulity at the incredible metamorphosis that his sister had undergone.

Yet of all those gathered there, her eyes quickly caught on that one man who always seemed to draw her eye, the prince, Celeborn. Like the other members of the royal family who sat upon the dais, he too had risen as she entered, and, like them, a look of astonishment had crossed his handsome face, but where the others cheered and showed open admiration, he had quickly schooled his expression into one of calculation, as though she were a warrior he meant to challenge and this were a battle more than a dance.

The momentary glance of wonder that he had directed towards her was one she had seen many times before in the eyes of many a man, but the second more prolonged gaze, as if he were drinking her in with his brilliant green eyes, turning over every facet of her mind; that unspoken challenge was something that no man had ever dared to direct at her. Audacity: she added it to the list of traits she had mentally ascribed to him.

Artanis raised her chin proudly, leveling her eyes with his, feeling her lips curl into a smile. She might have thought that such a thing would offend her…but instead she found that…that it inspired her, that she found herself rising to that challenge and she was struck by the sudden desire to surpass it, to show him things he had never seen before, amaze him to such an extent that he would no longer be able to hide his amazement at the sight of her. She wanted…she found herself wanting to turn his calculating look into…something else, she knew not what. She only knew that if she could but make him smile at her once, then she would care not at all if every other elf in this hall despised her dancing.

The music swelled and Luthien took the floor while Artanis paced back and forth, but she only feigned to watch her friend's dance, for her mind, once fixed upon the object of its thought, was entirely bent upon it and so, instead of watching Luthien, she directed many a covert glance towards the Sindarin prince. It seemed she was as intrigued by him as he seemed to be by her, for she found his face exceedingly handsome, his hair, silver as a moonbeam, exceptionally beautiful, and his eyes, green as the leaves in summer, seemed to hold her captive in their depths with the strange darkness that dwelt there, the darkness of the elves who had never seen the light of the trees. Yet it was not a darkness of ignorance, as her cousins had said it would be, but merely a strange and mysterious wisdom so different from their own. _The absence of light is not ignorance_, she thought. For he knew many a thing regarding his own native land, many a thing that was still a mystery to her, and, if she could, she would have him make those mysteries known to her. She hardly heard the music as she watched him, and he sent many a glance her way as well. 'He knows,' she thought, 'he knows that I fancy him.' And perhaps he was no less entranced by her, she mused, than she was by him.

Luthien's song came to an end and Artanis took the floor. She would dance, not only for herself, but for him as well. "A fast song!" She cried to the musicians, the excitement welling within her like a spring, and they struck up a wild tune filled with fury and power. She closed her eyes and let it course through her, filling her veins until it flowed through her like a pulse, throbbing, and then, slowly, she began to dance, the innumerable bangles and bells jingling about her wrists and ankles as she turned and leapt, her lithe body moving in time with the music.

Gradually she began to move faster and faster, spinning and whirling, leaping high into the air with such energy that the flowers in her headdress began to come loose and scatter about the floor like snow. It was a dance of passion, a wild and untameable dance.

Her body had never felt more alive and, in her mad spinning, her eyes met the prince's momentarily to find that they had changed, and perhaps she had inspired him, for his lips were curled in a grin now and there was a certain look in his eyes that excited her further, a look of desire laid bare. And at the thought a shiver ran through her that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand straight up although she was perspiring heavily from dancing.

'He knows,' she thought, 'he knows that I am dancing for him.' Just then the music rose to a crescendo then just as suddenly died, and Artanis sank into a low bow before the dais, at the feet of Elu Thingol, breathing hard, her face flushed, the filmy fabric clinging to her sweat-damp skin.

"Come now!" Luthien cried in excitement, running forward and taking her friend's hand, pulling her back until she was forced to tear her eyes away from the prince, and turning her to face the crowd, "let us see which one of us shall be proclaimed the winner!" Having so said, she raised her hands in the air, provoking a great cheer from the crowd. But then Artanis stepped forward, raising her hands, and the crowd cheered equally as loud for her.

"You have met your match Luthien!" She cried to her friend.

But Luthien laughed and said, "be not so hasty Artanis! Let us try again!" And she stepped forward once more, raising her hands to the crowd, yet the cheer was no louder than when Artanis stepped forward for the second time and, after the third time they had repeated the exercise with no clear winner, Thingol rose to his feet.

"Very well!" He cried. "The people are locked in a stalemate but I have devised a manner in which to decide the victor! The decision cannot fall to Finrod, for Artanis is his sister, nor can it fall to Melian or myself as Luthien is our daughter. So, instead, I call upon the Prince Celeborn to cast the deciding vote! Surely my chief counselor will give us an unbiased decision!" Yet even as Celeborn rose to his feet, both Luthien and Finrod cried out in protest.

"Nay! For he is Luthien's cousin and shall therefore choose his kin!" Finrod cried.

But Luthien protested differently, saying; "he cannot give an unbiased opinion, for I have already seen his answer in his eyes!"

"What say you Celeborn?" Thingol asked, turning to his nephew. "Whose dance did you find most inspiring?"

"The Lady Artanis is the winner," Celeborn said with a smile, causing half of the hall to erupt in shouts of joy and the other in cries of displeasure. His eyes flickered to hers for a brief moment before he turned away, laughing, but Artanis had no time to observe him further for in the next moment Luthien had leapt into her arms, embracing her tightly.

"Quite the lady you must be to inspire the heart of my nephew, Artanis!" Thingol called by way of congratulations. "For he spurns the sun more than any other!"

"Oh well done Artanis! Well done!" Luthien cried, laughing, for she was one of those rare few who had the grace to handle defeat as well as victory. "I have never seen my cousin look at anyone the way that he looks at you!" She whispered, giggling, into Artanis's ear. And Artanis turned to glance back at him once more, yet all that she saw was his retreating back as he left the hall and Thingol, watching him as he left, with a strange and suspicious look upon his face.

Doriath's mornings were clean, sterile, all empty halls and quiet corridors. One could nearly walk through the entirety of the city unseen and it was in this solitude and silence that Artanis delighted. She knew not where the light came from, only that it seemed to shine through the stone foliage of the trees that towered high above her, though certainly there could be no sun inside the cave. Yet, the rays that fell upon her were warm and she watched the dust filter through them, glimmering like so many grains of crystalline sand.

She sighed happily, and the sound of it filled the silence around her as she wandered through the adamantine forest. It was a true shame that the Sindar made a habit of sleeping through the dawn, when all came to life. Small brown and white birds with yellow throats flitted about her, chirping, landing on the low branches of the trees and cocking their heads quizzically, looking at her with their bright black eyes. She held out her finger but they would not land upon it; she had only been there a few months and they were still suspicious of her. She smiled and continued her stroll, tiny red and blue salamanders darted across her path, their webbed feet pattering across the floor. They too stopped and looked at her, tiny scaly chests expanding and contracting rapidly with excitement.

She laughed, settling herself upon the grassy floor and the salamanders showed none of the temerity of the birds. They climbed into her lap, playing there, running up and down her arms, iridescent colors sparkling in the early morning light. What a magical world this was, full of magical things. One of the salamanders climbed up her body, up her face, perching upon her nose. She watched as he blinked at her with big inquisitive eyes, moving his head close, then far, then close again and suddenly they all leapt down, scurrying away and diving into a nearby stream. She stood and walked along the stream, the carp following her, mouthing at the surface, hoping that she would toss them a tasty morsel or two.

Yes, Morgoth was here in Ennor; that was true. Yet to her it seemed that this place was more full of life, more alive itself, than all of Aman. Even in this cave she felt far freer than she had in the wide avenues of Valinor or the radiant gardens of Lorien. She startled a frog as she walked by and it jumped into the water with a croak. Bending down, she watched it as it dove beneath the water and disappeared underneath a wealth of white and yellow water lilies.

The surface of the water rippled, revealing a face reflected back at her, and she looked up, surprised. Her eyes met his, green like the leaves in summer. The silver haired prince was standing across from her, on the other side of the brook, hands in the pockets of his breeches, barefoot. But his expression was different than the last time she had seen him some weeks ago. There was no challenge there, no astonishment, no desire, merely a polite smile. Without a word he stepped across the stream and walked away amongst the trees, stopping when she did not follow and turning back to motion to her. She pointed at herself and he nodded, grinning.

She followed him, curious, intrigued by the self-secure way that he strode through the palace, just as she had been intrigued by the way he had walked through the forest canopy on the night of her arrival. Surely, there could be nothing more representative of this land than him: just as alive, just as mysterious, just as interesting; she was entirely fascinated. He stopped at the base of a tree, whistling, and the tiny brown and white birds darted out, fluttering about before they settled upon his extended arm it in a row, nestling close together. He spoke to them softly, then beckoned to her and this time they did not fly away at her approach but sat still. She stretched out her hand but then stopped, pausing, looking to him for confirmation that she could touch them. He nodded and, gently, she stroked their fluffy breasts and the smooth feathers along their backs.

"Aew," he said, tilting his head towards the little birds.

"Aew," she repeated. He lifted his arm, speaking to them once more, and they stirred, flying back into the branches of the tree.

"Celeborn," he said, placing one hand across his broad chest.

"Yes…I know who you are," she said in broken Sindarin with an awkward smile, a bit unsure what he meant by it. He laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, rich and welcoming, with no hint of prejudice or haughtiness.

"Celeborn," he said again, pointing to himself.

"Oh, you want me to say it?" She asked in Quenya, but he showed no signs of understanding. "Well, alright then…" She raised her head and smiled. "Mae g'ovannen Celeborn," she said and he smiled at her words. There was something so pure and simple about it that she could not help but smile as well. She pointed at herself now, "Artanis."

"Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo Artanis Finarfiniel," he said and she smiled, pleased to note that his voice had the same deep rich quality as his laugh.

"Quenya! That was Quenya!" She said, and the prince looked pleased at her words.

"Náto," he replied but said nothing else and Artanis took that to mean that it was the extent of his Quenya.

"Why are you awake this early?" She tried to say in Sindarin, returning the favor, but her Sindarin was still not well developed and, besides, her pronunciation was quite poor. Consequently, it seemed that he did not understand her, cocking his head in a curious way, as the salamanders had done. She was embarrassed, unaccustomed to failure, and dropped her gaze, blushing, but he reached out, touching her arm to draw her attention, and she looked back up to see him pantomiming waking up.

"Yes!" She gestured at him, "you, waking up, why?" He shook his head.

"No," he said, then pantomimed going to sleep. "I will sleep." He said and she nodded. He pointed at her.

"Oh, me? I…Melian…waiting." She managed to get out, pointing in the general direction of the weavers' quarters. He nodded and, with a smile, waved farewell to her before wandering off in the opposite direction from which he had come. He was very curious indeed, unique in that he was not intimidated by her. And smiling to herself, she could not help but think once more about how very handsome he was. It had been a very long time indeed since any man had piqued her interest and, even then, it had never been anything more than a fleeting fancy with which she soon grew irritated, yet there was something different about this prince of the dark elves, something that intrigued her, something that she could not quite put her finger on. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the night she had danced for him some weeks ago.

Melian had not yet arrived and Artanis was glad, for she liked to prepare her loom by herself and found herself distracted when others were about. The looms lay quiet, like great slumbering beasts, and she walked through them until she reached her own, stopping to examine the weaving that she had done the day before. Compared to her previous work it was superior, the weave was even and the fabric was not warped at all. Yet, she still had not managed to capture the magic of it, the way that the cloth of the Sindar seemed to blend and merge with shadow and light, making them near invisible when they chose to be.

"You are doing well, my daylight child." The voice came from behind her, deeper and smokier than a woman's wont, Melian. Artanis turned to see the dark haired queen approaching slowly, a gentle sway in her hips and a mysterious smile upon her face, as always. She held a large spool of gray thread in her hands that seemed to move and shimmer with the light, almost as though it were alive. "Do not worry yourself. That will come in time." Melian sifted through Artanis's mind as easily as a fish in water before Artanis could recoup and throw up her walls. She felt the Queen shrink away.

"Why so slow today Artanis?" Melian asked with a gentle laugh, setting the spool down on Artanis's loom, perhaps with more force than she had intended, for the sound resonated throughout the room. Melian jumped a bit, surprised at herself. Such occurrences were not particularly rare; she often underestimated her own strength. Indeed, many a time Artanis had seen her inadvertently break things: a crystal goblet clutched too tightly shattered in her hand, her own golden crown warped as she went to remove it, even stone sometimes shattered at her footfall. She always seemed startled and somewhat embarrassed on these occasions, fixing each thing with the selfsame hand that had broken it while Artanis looked away, pretending she hadn't seen.

What for all of the years that she had inhabited an elven body and for all of her wisdom, she did not seem to understand her own strength well, was confused by it even, just as lightening strikes simply because it is lightening with no consideration of the power it wields, or as a waterfall thunders over a cliff solely because it is water and the cliff is there, with no understanding of the pressure it exerts upon the rocks below. Artanis had the utmost respect for Melian, was thankful for all that she was teaching her, but she could not deny that she was also afraid of her for Melian was fay indeed, not an elf with supernatural powers, but a supernatural power itself cloaked in the form of an elf, that sometimes did not pull that cloak about itself tightly enough to maintain that pretense accurately. Melian set about preparing her loom and Artanis busied herself with doing the same.

"Does no one else ever wake in the mornings?" Artanis asked.

"I have no need for sleep," said Melian, carefully examining each warp thread to be sure that none of them had slipped from their places. "But no, aside from myself, the others generally sleep quite late into the day unless there is great need for them to awake. They prefer the night to the day. On occasion, however, you may see the march wardens coming and going, for they do so at all hours of the day and night, defending Doriath from harm. But what you really mean, as I have seen in your mind, is 'does Prince Celeborn often wake in the mornings' and the answer to that is 'no'." She smiled, seemingly pleased with the quandary into which she had just thrown the Valinorean maid, as she passed her shuttle across the loom and it began to whir to life as her feet operated the treadle.

"I see," Artanis said merely, a blush spreading across her face, disconcerted by the way that Melian was so easily able to see into her mind. Yet, at the thought of Celeborn she grinned, biting her lip to conceal her expression from the queen. Settling herself upon her bench, she took her shuttle in hand, beginning to weave as well, letting the energy from her hands pass into the thread and her thoughts turned to her weaving.

"Those were no dances of Valinor that I saw you perform," Melian said with a smile and a small laugh. Artanis turned towards her, surprised at the queen's joking tone.

"Nay," she replied, laughing and shaking her head. "For the dances of Valinor seem so ill-suited to this place, so stiff and staid. Instead I danced those dances of my own creation, that I used to dance when I was young and wandered the gardens of Lorien on my own, for they seemed to speak to my heart more truly and, perhaps, to be more suitable to this place.

"I find that I must agree with you," Melian said, "for the dances of Aman were also too formal for my taste. Thus it was that I left that place and sought to wander here, where I might dance freely beneath the stars, and so dancing, it seems that I was myself ensnared in another dance: the dance of fate."

"I sometimes wonder if it was fate itself that brought me here as well," Artanis said and Melian smiled as though she knew a great secret and meant to guard it still.

"I almost thought," she said mysteriously, "that when you danced I could see Laurelin in all her splendor. But oh!" She cried, as if struck by a sudden pain, "I had almost forgotten that she is no more! Never did I think that such tragedy would befall Aman. When Dairon and Mablung brought us that news from the Mereth Aderthad both the King and I spent many an hour in grief over the loss of those trees."

"Indeed," Artanis replied, "never have I known a sadder day." But it was a lie and she could not bring herself to meet Melian's gaze, for the queen would surely discern her falsehood in their depths. Thoughts unbidden swarmed to the surface of her mind, the reflection of the prince's silver hair in the stream, the bloody corpses of the silver-haired Teleri floating in the water beside the quay, how the sea foam had been stained incarnadine.

Finrod's words echoed in her head, '_It may not matter that everyone is sworn to secrecy; it may be that one day she will collapse in one of her fits and divulge the entire secret for everyone to hear. How can we trust her when she could so easily and accidentally betray us?' _No! She mustn't allow the visions to overcome her. She shut her eyes, concentrating, praying that she would have the strength to push them back.

"Artanis?" She heard Melian's concerned voice and her head cleared, her eyes snapping open. Breathing deeply, she attempted to steady her hands, conscious of the fact that Melian had ceased her weaving and was now eyeing her with worry. "Is there something the matter? For, as ever, when I speak the name of Laurelin you grow silent, as though some fell shadow has passed over your heart. "

"Nay, Nay!" Artanis laughed, too cheerfully perhaps. "I…I merely grow frustrated with my cloth. It seems I have botched it yet again." A convenient excuse, for there was truth in it. Despite her best efforts, she was yet entirely incapable of weaving the cloaks that the Sindar wore.

She frowned, frustrated, turning her mind fully to her weaving for already it had begun; the cloth that she produced was fine cloth, but the magic of it was not right. Where that woven by Melian and the Sindarin maids melded effortlessly with shadow and moonlight, turning the wearer himself into a mere shadow, Artanis's cloth seemed to catch the light and radiate it, making the fabric glow, performing quite the opposite function of protecting the wearer. Beleg and Mablung's marchwardens would never be able to wear the clothes that she produced, not if they did not want to be shot. It was useless, her pursed lips tightened over her teeth.

"Hm… Artanis, my golden child…" Melian rose, moving to Artanis's loom and stroking the cloth with her fingers, seeming to have forgotten the awkwardness of just a few moments earlier, or else having decided to further her investigation at a later date. "If you wish to weave the night itself into this fabric then you must come to love the night. This is finely woven cloth but it is full of the day, of sunshine and radiance and warmth. If you can learn to make it absorb these things instead, rather than reflecting them…well then, then you shall have the key."

"It is useless," said Artanis, her jaw clenching in frustration, mad at herself. She was not accustomed to being tasked with things she could not properly complete and it irritated her extremely. And she wanted to say more, to explain that feeling, but Melian mandated that she only speak Sindarin to her and, overcome by that sentiment of failure, Artanis could not find the words.

"Do not be hasty and proud my sun child," Melian reprimanded her. "It is different but it is not useless. I am certain that, given time, you shall master the technique."

"I certainly hope so," Artanis replied with a huff.

"Have you always been so impatien?" Melian asked with a smile and Artanis understood how Thingol had come to love her despite all of her fierceness, for when Melian smiled it seemed as though the whole world itself was smiling at you.

Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo – (Quenya) a star shines upon the hour of our meeting

Náto – (Quenya) yes


	5. Chapter 5: Of Fish and Frogs

Author's note: Thank you for reading! As always, comments and discussion are welcomed and much appreciated! I guess I really should have put this story under Silmarillion, not sure why I put it under LOTR. The snare begins to tighten…even as romance begins to blossom… Meanwhile, Finrod discovers that politics in Menegroth are just as convoluted and annoying as those in Aman. And…Oropher is going to be introduced in all his glory in the next few chapters so get excited!

My thanks to anyone who followed or favorited and special thanks to Oleanne and EverleighBain who took the time to write lovely reviews!

Of Fish and Frogs

Doriath: 5th Chapter

"Life is too bitter already, without territories and wars and noble feuds"

– _T.H. White, The Once and Future King_

The march wardens sparred once a week; a raucous event that often devolved into fistfights and ended with trips to the healers and tankards of beer, which was perhaps why Artanis had taken to watching, for it reminded her of the games that they sometimes held in Valinor, in which she had participated and triumphed many a time. Yet today she was not merely watching. Today she had been pushed into the ring, protesting all the way, to battle a square-jawed Sindarin march warden by none other than Finrod himself, who had been goaded on by Celeborn. She had emerged triumphant, clambering back to safety over the fence, but it was only just barely so, for Celeborn had told her at the start of the fight that the girl was a master with hunting knives. Thus, Artanis had been surprised indeed to find herself suddenly tackled to the ground and put in a headlock while the Sindarin spectators whooped and laughed.

"He said she was skilled with knives but she is a wrestler!" Artanis pointed an accusing finger at the prince, who grinned, getting the general gist of what she was saying even if he did not understand the Quenya. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and laughed before speaking to Finrod, a conversation from which Artanis only managed to glean snippets of meaning.

"He wants to know if you always trust information from your adversaries." Finrod laughed gleefully, and Artanis glowered at the grinning faces of her brother and his friend. Yet, despite their fun at her expense, she did not feel excluded, not the way that she had as a child when Maedhros or Curufin had refused to let her play with them; it felt different somehow, like an invitation almost.

"Well if he likes tricks so much then tell him to fight me himself and I will show him a trick or two." Artanis said to her brother. "What are they saying?" She asked, for the Sindar were chanting now.

"They want to see the Noldorin girl fight again." Her brother said, grinning.

One more look at Celeborn's taunting face swept away any hesitation that she might have had and filled her instead with pure bravado. It was that same look, that same challenge that he had wordlessly issued her after her dance and she felt that same fire burning in her once more. There was no fear in her.

Artanis blew air out of her nose and laughed. "Very well." With a broad grin she leapt back over the barrier, agile body lithe as a deer, the dust of the tournament ground rising in a mist about her booted feet as she spun her golden spear over her head, eliciting the roar from the crowd that she had wished for. "Is this what you wish?" She called to the people, no longer fearing whether Sindarin was proper or not, merely letting the words flow from her, laughing like a madwoman. If possible, they cheered even more loudly, clapping their hands, stomping their feet, laughing, and she was sure that she saw coins changing hands, bets being placed. The wildness of it all, the lack of restraint fueled her.

But, most of all, she noticed that the prince had forgotten whatever it was that Finrod had been speaking to him about and, instead, she now had his undivided attention. He stood against the barrier, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed upon her. Poised, Artanis extended her long spear at her side, its wicked golden blade, long as a man's arm, glinting in the sun, its shaft of polished ivory, as long as she was tall, extending far behind her. There was, thankfully, a slight breeze that lifted and dried her sweat-soaked shirt even as it threatened to loosen tendrils of hair from her braid. Then she raised her empty hand to point at Celeborn, saying; "so you like your tricks Prince of Doriath? Fight me then!" She roared in her unpolished Sindarin. And, despite the brashness of her words, and the fact that she doubted she would emerge the victor, her heart fluttered with wild, mad anticipation.

"As you wish." Celeborn shouted back in equally unrefined Quenya, grinning broadly as he leapt over the barricade. They moved towards the center of the ring and Artanis noticed the relaxed and comfortable way in which he gripped his battle-axe, a seasoned veteran who had seen many battles.

The Doriathrin elves did not use the thick, heavy, bulky sort of axes that she had already seen the dwarves carrying. Rather, only the edge of the blade was made of metal while the center was cut out, creating a very light and aerodynamic shape. On the opposite end was a long sharp knife-like blade and the handle was of mithril, shining and bright, with a grip of wrapped leather. She heard the blade sing as he swung it in a circular motion through the air, causing the Sindar around her to begin cheering wildly. More money changed hands.

They reached the center and he bowed to her, then extended the axe in front of him, his strong forearms steady. Artanis bowed back, touching the tip of her spear against the axe blade, and met his unreadable eyes. But he did not move, his breathing even and regulated, his face impassive, and they stood with blades meeting for a long moment. There was nowhere she could strike that was undefended and so she slowly pressed her spear against the axe, testing it, trying to force an opening. But he moved forward, pressing back, and she was forced to retreat, glancing down at the proximity of the blades and, in that singular instant, he moved and she suddenly found the blade of his axe a mere hair's breadth from her forehead. Looking up, her eyes met his again and she dropped her spear in defeat.

The Sindar cheered and Artanis grabbed her spear up from the dirt, returning to the center of the ring, looking back at Celeborn, daring him, her eyes full of laughter. "Come on then," she goaded him. "Let's have another go." He consented with a smile, returning and pressing his blade against hers once more.

"Sure you are not too distracted, Princess?" He asked her in a low and quiet voice.

"You are not interesting enough to distract me," she shot back, a bold-faced lie if ever there was one. And yet her barb had not distracted him it seemed for he came after her with all the force and cold ferocity of before. She made sure not to look away this time though his dark eyes unsettled her; there was none of the light in them that the Noldor had in their own. They sent a chill down her spine, unsettled her, for she could discern nothing from them, and yet they were very beautiful eyes indeed, the verdant color of summer leaves.

But, as a cheer resounded about them she realized, belatedly, that she was about to lose for, though she had protected her head, already the axe was whistling towards her wrist, stopping just as the metal was about to kiss her flesh. Injury this time rather than death, but she was forced to drop her spear to the dirt once more. Her heart pounded within her chest, more from frustration than exertion. He had beaten her in two bouts and could thereby have ended the match now, but instead Celeborn returned to the center for the final bout and she followed him eagerly, glad that it was not yet over.

"Dance," he whispered with a grin, "as you did before. But this time, I want you to dance with me," and she stilled her beating heart, forced herself to remain calm, as impassive as he was. And they danced, never looking away, eyes boring into each other's. This time she forced him to maintain a proper distance, never letting him come close enough to move his axe past the tip of her spear, she did not look down, perceiving what was in the peripheral instead. For each step he forced from her she forced one from him until they moved in unison, a perfect machine. She vaguely heard, as though from far away, the whistles of the crowd, for the tension was mounting as minutes passed and neither swung.

Then Artanis thought she saw an opening and struck fast, a good strike that left her unexposed so that he was forced to block her rather than striking in return. But he pivoted around her and it was she who was forced to block this time. They circled, weapons locked together, mere centimeters from each other's faces, trying to judge the precise moment when they could leap away unharmed. Artanis saw it and leapt, pushing against him hard, using the momentum to spring backwards until they had reestablished distance and the blades came up again, tip to tip, circling once more. The watchers were going wild now and she thought she could hear Finrod's deep laughter amongst the voices.

It was Celeborn who struck now, fast, and she brought her sword to her side to block the blow aimed there but, as soon as she did, his blade was no longer there. Instead, it was flying towards her face now and she brought her blade up to counter, catching his against it in the nick of time. It was enough to save herself but not enough to win. The knife end of his axe was between her eyes and her spear pressed up against it, preventing it from burying itself there. Her heart pounded; he had not scored a kill stroke nor an injury even, but a threat. He had won. If he had wanted to push down, break her wrists, he could have killed her, but he released his grip and, as they backed away slowly, bowing to each other once more, she found herself lamenting not that she had lost, but that it had lasted such a short time.

Celeborn smiled as they exited the arena, leaping over the barrier, and waved to those who were cheering loudly before turning to her and saying something. She shook her head, indicating that she did not understand, and he repeated himself. When she still could not comprehend he spoke to Finrod.

"He says you fight well." Her brother said. "But not as well as him."

"I cannot discern whether that is supposed to be a compliment or an insult," she replied, unsure of how to respond.

"Coming from Celeborn I would assume that it is both," Finrod replied. Yet, putting her somewhat wounded pride aside, Artanis found that she was not insulted. Indeed, she was a bit intrigued. With Celeborn, each taste left her wanting more.

"In Valinor they always let me win." She said to Celeborn in broken Sindarin. He cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. "They let me win." She said again, being more careful of her pronunciation. He nodded.

"I would not like it if someone let me win." He said, having to repeat himself so that she understood.

"I did not." She said. He nodded in acknowledgement and smiled, extending a hand to her.

She took it as he replied, "that is good, seeing as how I do not intend to ever let you beat me." They shook hands and Artanis felt a soaring sense of accomplishment at the knowledge that he had found her a worthy rival and, moreover, treated her as such. Then there was the fact that Celeborn was exceedingly adept at bringing out the competitive edge in her. Artanis bit her lip, excitement still coursing through her as her eyes flickered back to his.

"Celeborn Galadhonian!" A deep voice shouted, followed by a rich laugh like the roar of a waterfall. The three of them turned to see a wild looking elf strutting about the ring, axe in hand. A raucous whooping arose from the Sindar.

"Ah…this will be the final match then," Finrod whispered to her. It was difficult to hear him over all of the wild cheering and Artanis had to lean her head close to her brother's to be heard.

"Why is that?" She asked.

"That is Mablung," Finrod replied, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world, grinning as Artanis turned her eyes to the elf stalking about the ring. The golden rays of the sun paid him absolute tribute. He was a monolith of thick bulky muscles and corded strength over bronzed skin. He had a strong jaw and dark mahogany hair that was shaved on the sides but there was a strip of longer hair down the center of his head that stood straight up and a long braid that hung in the back, nearly down to his waist. He was barefoot, clad only in fawn colored deerskin leggings, his ears ornamented with many silver earrings. And, upon his back was a large black tattoo. Artanis thought him most fearsome and wonderful.

"He is the chief of the march wardens." Finrod replied. "Remember? You met him at Mereth Aderthad."

"How could I forget one such as him?" She replied with a laugh. Mablung shouted something else and Celeborn leapt onto the fence, perching there like a squirrel, a mischievous look upon his face, replying to Mablung in words that she did not understand. Then the Sindarin prince stripped off his tunic and the soaked cotton shirt beneath, laying them over the fence. He too was heavily muscled and darker of skin than she, but not nearly as dark Mablung. Nor did he have the thick bulky musculature of the chief warden, though he certainly could not be called slight of build, he was more slender but just as solid, and taller than the other elf besides. Artanis leaned forward against the fence to see better, for everyone was pressing against each other now, eager to see the fight.

"But why should it be over?" She asked, disappointed.

"Because there is no one who can beat Mablung," Finrod said.

"Even you and Prince Celeborn?" She asked, incredulous. Finrod laughed.

"I'm glad that you have such a high opinion of me little sister!" Artanis elbowed him. "But yes, there is none who is a match for Mablung, except Beleg sometimes. He is the other chief of the march wardens but tends to favor the bow rather than the axe. However, we should be able to see Celeborn get a few good strikes in before he is finished for he is a strong warrior indeed, stronger than I maybe." He laughed, crying out to taunt his silver-haired friend in words that Artanis did not understand.

Celeborn and Mablung were circling each other now and though she did not understand their words, she could tell by their tone that they were taunting one another.

"What are they saying?" She asked her brother, but Finrod only laughed.

"Words that are not fit for a lady's ears," he replied.

Suddenly Mablung lunged, fierce and powerful as an ox, but Celeborn caught his strike on the edge of his axe blade and calmly knocked the dark-haired elf's axe away. Artanis was please to see that Celeborn, in fact, had not been flattering her. He employed the same style and force as he had used with her with Mablung. She was also fascinated to see the great diversity in the fighting style of the Sindar. Mablung was aggressive, bold, powerful; he reminded Artanis of an eagle, his keen eyes searching for prey that he would swoop down on and instantly decimate upon discovery. Meanwhile, Celeborn reminded her of a viper, equally aggressive though quiet and hidden, relying more upon cunning than brute strength, poised to deliver a lethal dose of venom should the opportunity present itself.

Then Mablung struck, a lightening fast blow, and Celeborn could not quite bring his axe up in time to block it. The march warden stopped the blade of his axe a mere hair's breadth from the prince's silver head, causing Celeborn to drop his own axe, surrendering, and a round of cheers mixed with booing arose from the spectators as, laughing, the two contestants returned to the center of the ring to begin their second match.

"Who do you support?" Artanis asked her brother.

"Well Celeborn is my mentor so I support him of course," Finrod said, clapping. "You?"

"I don't particularly care, though I suppose that some vindictive part of me would like to see Celeborn knocked on his ass," she grinned.

"He would probably deserve that, in all honesty," Finrod laughed. "He can be quite the overconfident handful at times and he has a ferocious temper when provoked."

"Really? And here I was thinking that he seemed so reserved." She replied. Celeborn was striking aggressively and incessantly at Mablung's middle now. So much so that Mablung had no chance to get a strike in himself.

"Quiet, yes. Reserved, no. Celeborn is extraordinarily…blunt…about his opinions and likely to offer them whether they are desired or not."

"Hm…whatever does he hope to achieve with that strategy?" Artanis mused, observing the prince striking incessantly at his opponent. "He is tiring himself out."

"I haven't the faintest clue…" Finrod replied as Celeborn struck again at Mablung's middle and Mablung went to block it, almost lazily, clearly getting annoyed with Celeborn's incessant blows. But, as the dark-haired elf brought his axe in position to block the prince's blow, Celeborn changed the trajectory of the strike. Mablung belatedly realized his error and tried to bring his axe up but there simply was not enough time. The shining blade of Celeborn's axe was pointing steadily at the space between his opponent's eyes. Another round of cheers and boos rose up into the air and the two competitors approached the center of the ring for their final bout. The crowd was going wild.

The two circled each other once more but it was obvious that Celeborn had clearly expended a great amount of energy in order to land a blow on Mablung and he moved more slowly now while his rival showed no signs of tiring. Now it was the dark-haired ox of an elf that rained down blow after blow upon his silver-haired rival. The elves moved closer and closer, axes locked together, and then Mablung slipped his foot behind Celeborn's, pulling his legs out from under him. Simultaneously he knocked the wind out of the prince by thrusting the shaft of his axe into his chest. Celeborn fell with an ignominious thud as his posterior connected with the dusty earth. A great cheer went up from Mablung's supporters and the elf leapt about the ring, swinging his axe in the air. Celeborn was clapping and Mablung stopped to help him up, the two embracing and slapping each other on the back as they exchanged words with a smile before climbing out of the ring. Finrod and Celeborn clasped hands and spoke as the Sinda leapt back over the barrier.

"We are going to go drink with the others. If you care to join us the prince says you are welcome to do so."

"Oh, no, but thank you. I must return to Melian now for, as you can see, I have not been practicing Sindarin as much as I should." She replied, nevertheless pleased that they thought she was worth drinking with and secretly wishing she could join them. Yet it was off to the kitchens with her to learn how to make lembas.

"Very well then sister, I shall see you later I expect." Finrod said as he and Celeborn set off with the others. It was with reluctance that she watched them go, a reluctance that was increased when the prince turned around to direct one last grin at her.

These Noldor think that they can come into our lands and take whatever they want, do whatever they want. The Feanorians treat your decrees as a mere afterthought at best, explicitly ignoring you. Will you now raise up another wolf in the lamb's pen? It is only a matter of time until its true nature takes over and it turns on us." It seemed as though steam was about to spill out of Saeros's ears, so wroth was he.

Celeborn looked down the long table towards Finrod, hoping that the passionate Noldo would not take Saeros's bait. Truth be told, he was a bit of an extremist and Celeborn had never taken much of a liking to him, though he kept company with his cousin, Oropher.

"My king, I ask that I not be judged by the actions of my cousins. I assure you, I am my own person and I act as I see fit, not in imitation of my relatives. Indeed, I alone, out of all of the Noldo, sought you out here in Menegroth to make your acquaintance and obtain your favor. Could I not simply choose to do as my cousins have, ignoring your orders and building whatever I like wherever I please? Yet I have not done so. In fact, I have habitually done the opposite. I would certainly hope that my actions are proof of my integrity as well as my concern for the well-being of your subjects. Nargothrond would be a fiefdom of Doriath and I your vassal, nothing more."

At Finrod's words, a great deal of chatter awoke amongst Thingol's advisors as they spoke amongst themselves, debating the merits and demerits of such a plan.

"I must admit," said Thingol, interrupting the chatter, which died away immediately at the sound of his voice, like birds scattering before a wolf. "I myself am very divided on this issue." He looked first towards Finrod and his hopeful supporters, then towards Saeros and his staunch conservatives. He stood slowly, pressing his fingertips against the table, and began to pace slowly about the room. They were all of them forced to turn in their chairs to see him, none of them daring to turn their back on the king. But Thingol was not concerned with their discomfort as he paced about.

"Finrod Finarfinian proposes to establish a fiefdom under my leadership, a Sindarin king with a Noldorin vassal." Thingol said slowly, considering his thoughts out loud. "This could be an opportunity, a manifestation of cooperation between out peoples. Finrod is right to point out that he had given me no reason to distrust him and, on the contrary, that I have every reason to trust him. Politically, such a union could turn the tide towards more positive future relations and initiate an alliance powerful enough to pose a serious threat to Melkor. Yet there is also the chance that such a move could undermine my authority amongst both Noldor and Sindar. The Noldor could see it as an invitation to further encroach upon Sindarin lands. And, Saeros is right to point out that there is a current of discontent amongst my own people regarding this matter. Each point I consider seems to have an advantage with an equally weighted disadvantage and I find that the scale is balanced, that it does not tilt in either direction." Thingol's eyes snapped up to pierce them with his gaze as he returned to his chair and seated himself slowly, taking care to move the long sleeves of his court robes out of the way.

"That is why I have consulted all of you." His voice suddenly had a sharp edge to it, as sharp as the look that glinted in his eyes now. The king's counselors could sense his ire. "Not to hear you squabble." His gaze rested overly long on Saeros and his people. "None of us here needs to hear these endless arguments in favor and against. Even a child could have already surmised them and yet I have just been forced to recant them all for you. How many more days must we sit here in deadlock?"

Those counselors who had the good sense to look down and either show or feign embarrassment did so. Those that did not quickly looked down upon meeting the king's icy stare once more.

"I do not have the patience for this," said Thingol. "Celeborn, note in your ledger that we will not vote on this today. My temper will not suffer me to endure yet another gridlocked vote for…what is it?"

"The tenth night my lord," Celeborn said.

"For the tenth night," Thingol finished. "Please, Celeborn," the king threw his hands up in abandon, "say something to these fools that they can really chew over this evening. I know you must have some opinion, though I cannot fathom why you have been holding it in so long." Celeborn stood.

"I would implore you to look at the earth around you. Many of you are old and learned, older than I. Yet even in my relatively short life I have seen many changes. The seasons grow longer then shorter again, rivers run dry, trees grow taller, forests denser, summers hotter, winters colder. What is a fish to do when his lake is no more? Shall he flop about in the mud and insist that the water will come again? Perhaps it will, but he will not live to see it. His utility is destroyed and, with it, his life. Yet consider the amphibians, who were once fishes themselves but now have lungs and feet as well. They can inhabit a wide variety of habitats, unlike the fish, who can go no further than the boundaries of his pond. If I were to scoop him up and put him in a little bowl he could not escape and would have no further purpose than to suit my pleasure. A frog was the same once, as a tadpole, but as he grows he develops legs capable of propelling himself to great heights. It is a difficult matter: to capture a frog, for he can go wherever he wishes. Will you cling resolutely to your pond until the water runs dry and you are left gasping on the shore? Or, will you grow legs and walk into the forest"

"And which would you do?" Saeros called out, an impish grin upon his smug face.

"If you do not already know then you have clearly not been listening." Celeborn replied curtly before sitting. "You are all adjourned." The chatter erupted again as they all rose and, picking up their belongings, moved slowly towards the door. Thingol and Celeborn remained seated.

"A pretty piece nephew. Reminds me of why you are, after all, my chief counselor. I must confess, I was rather agitated with your silence on this matter, quite unlike you to keep your lip buttoned." Thingol murmured so as not to be overheard.

"It was more than a pretty piece, it was the truth," Celeborn replied in a whisper so that the others would not overhear as they filtered out of the room. "And, though I support Nargothrond and trust Finrod, I must confess that the idea of the Noldor setting up realms in Beleriand and playing at king does not sit well with me. Still, there is no other way forward and we cannot remain with our heads stuck in the sand, as Saeros would have us do. After the battle of Beleriand we have not the military might to prove a legitimate threat to both the Feanorians and Melkor. Yet with the children of Finarfin as our allies we may have some hope of one day reclaiming those lands. You know it and I know it."

"That is why this matter is of utmost importance!" Thingol said, agitation in his voice and near desperation in his movements as he rose, pacing quickly to the door as if to make sure that none of his councilors were milling about outside. Celeborn heard the lock click into place as the king bolted the door before returning to sit in the chair beside him.

"Celeborn," Thingol said, his voice still hushed despite having assured himself that they were indeed alone. "I do not need to tell you how depleted our army is after this war we have just fought. I know not what evil these princes of Aman have brought with them, but if…if they were ever to attack Doriath…" the King's voice faltered and then fell silent. "Nay, nay, unthinkable," he said, shaking his head as though revising his thoughts.

"And yet we have both already thought of it, have we not?" Celeborn replied, tapping his fingertips on the table. The words that Melian had spoken on the night of the arrival of the Noldor may have slept in his mind for a time, but he had not forgotten them.

"What has Melian foreseen uncle?"

But Thingol made no reply except to turn their conversation away from that topic, though this action on his part seemed to signify enough. "We need an ally among the Noldorin princes," he said, his voice hard and firm. "Someone who could come to our aid if the need were to arise, or who could be a powerful political ally amongst the Noldor. Finrod is, somewhat obviously, an ideal choice. Fingolfin's people are too closely attached to the Feanorians, whom Melian has deemed as dangerous. Yet there is some rift that has opened between Finrod and his cousins. He came here seeking my permission and my financial support yet he brought many a treasure with him out of Tirion and, in truth needs no money from Doriath's treasuries."

"He needs support as well and he seeks to bind himself with ties stronger than mere promises," Celeborn said, a thought he had thought many times before.

"Yes…" Thingol replied. "He is as a ship unmoored, cut loose from his fellows. Celeborn…" his uncle's voice seemed to grow weak, "the coming of the Noldor weighs upon my shoulders like a millstone and every day I must contend with the Feanorians or with Melkor slowly moving into lands that used to be ours. Each day our kingdom grows smaller. How long until they are at the borders of our fences?"

"Uncle," Celeborn reached out, placing a hand on Thingol's arm, "things are not as dire as you presume. The girdle of Melian will not break and our strength will return. But, yes, I agree with you that the alliance with Finrod is critical, however, might it not be more easily obtained? You need not the council's assent; you need only decree your decision."

"No Celeborn, such a move on my part would raise suspicion, for we have never done things in that manner. I can have no rumors milling about, particularly any that might imply that Doriath has grown weak. If word of such matters were to reach the ears of the Noldo then things might go very poorly indeed for our people, especially those in the North who are already suffering from the encroachment of the sons of Feanor."

"Then the hand is mine to play," Celeborn said, understanding his uncle's meaning, and Thingol nodded.

"Is there any whose mind you might be able to turn?" He asked.

"Venessiel." Celeborn replied without hesitation. "She holds with Saeros's line now because it seems more profitable and secure to her. But she is reasonable and holds no far fetched ideals about this matter…"

"Venessiel has no ideals about any matter." Thingol interjected. "It is all business to her."

"Exactly."

"So you plan to …persuade her?" Thingol asked. Celeborn nodded and the king shook his head. "I wish you luck then. She is…'a tough nut to crack' as the green elves would say."

"I am well aware of that uncle," the prince said with a grin as he rose from his chair, "as you may remember."

"Celeborn," Thingol said, causing the prince to look back before he exited the room. "I worry that you take this too lightly. This is a matter of the utmost importance. I beg you remember that. I depend upon you, truly." The prince cracked a grin.

"I know." He said before turning and disappearing through the door. But peace was not to be his for as soon as he had exited he was set upon by Finrod, near frantic with worry.

"Celeborn, I don't know how to thank you for the service you rendered me today!" The Noldo clasped his friend's hands ardently. "Truly, I thank you from the bottom of my heart!"

"Peace Finrod," Celeborn placed a calming hand upon his anxious friend's shoulder. He could not help but smile at the Noldo's eagerness. "There is still much work that must be done. Walk with me." The two continued down the hallway.

"Truthfully I did not expect there to be so much opposition to such a simple plan." Finrod confessed.

"You came to an old land full of old elves long set in their ways and you brought them hope and optimism and new ideas. They will curse you forever for it." Celeborn said with a sigh and a grin.

"And yet you are more moderate," said Finrod, "I am grateful for it."

"That is why I am the king's chief counselor and Saeros is not, though he openly yearns for the position. There is no wisdom to be found in extremes and power grubbing."

"But surely they will listen to you. You are their prince. You are the right hand of the king." Finrod's voice betrayed his anxious doubt.

"No I am merely a rather large and cumbersome obstacle that lies in their path and I am sure that they are all at this very moment spinning ideas about how best to clamber over me in pursuit of their own personal ends. Let it not be said that the Noldor alone are guilty of the sin of pride."

"Then how…" Finrod began but Celeborn stopped and faced his friend.

"Do not worry. I am very good at what I do Finrod. I know my people. Whatever their selfish desires and personal plots, each one of them loves this land as if it were his own mother. What I did in there was plant a seed. But now I must water it, must tend it carefully as it grows and, if I do that, then I promise you it will yield fruit."

"If my ears don't deceive me I believe you are saying that you are more clever than they are." Finrod grinned, some of the tension releasing.

"Well," Celeborn grinned and shrugged, "I am."

"Ever the braggart!" Finrod shook his head and laughed. "But where does the king's vote lie?"

"With you. But that won't do you any good unless we can turn one of Saeros's people to our side."

"Can you?"

"With a little bit of help. May I call upon you if I need you?"

"Of course. Thank you Celeborn." Finrod said but the Sinda waved away the praise.

"I am a prince of this realm, sworn to protect her. We have endured for many long years against Melkor yet if we are to do so much longer then we must band together."

"Well now… look who it is." Venessiel's voice was a rich purr and it had the tone of a fat lazy cat about to catch a canary. Yet Venessiel resembled anything but that, her lean shapely body stretched out upon a chaise before the fire, its light playing across the perfect supple curves of her breast and hips. She had changed out of her council garments to a more relaxed gown, if one could even call the sheer wine colored sheath a gown. She turned to look at him, her long, mahogany hair cascading over her shoulder. She had a perfect heart-shaped face with elegant brows, wide almond shaped ice blue eyes, and a small dainty mouth. Though her appearance was practically doll-like she exuded a strong sensuality, one could almost smell it emanating from her, and all of it was contrived, which was one of the many reasons that Celeborn disliked her so very much.

"I have been waiting for you." She said and Celeborn knew it was true. There was nothing Venessiel did that was not precisely calculated. If she had been born a queen she would have been formidable. As the Minister of the Treasury she was perhaps even more fearsome. She gestured to a chair opposite her. "Do you like what you see?" She asked, favoring him with her smoldering gaze.

"How could I not? Everyone knows that you are an exquisite beauty." Celeborn replied. She was attractive, he could not deny it, at one time in the past he had rejoiced in it, yet now he found that it was rather like scraping the frosting off of a pastry to find that the inside of it was rotten. Venessiel frowned playfully.

"Everyone knows…hmph. I don't care what everyone knows. I want to know what you think. White or red?"

"Red," he said.

"Of course. You always did prefer red." Her slender arm reached out to grasp a golden pitcher firmly by the handle and she sat up to pour two goblets of wine. He reached out to take his from her but she withheld it, their eyes meeting over the top of the glass, mere inches apart. "Do you like what you see?" She asked him again, her voice thick with impatience, and Celeborn had to remind himself that, though he was a prince, he was the one who was asking the favor and thus it was he who must curry her favor, as much as he disliked the idea.

"I like what I see very much." He said compliantly and she released her grasp on the cup, seeing in his eyes that his answer was true. She settled back against the chaise, toying with her cup.

"It could have been yours. It very nearly was once, if only you had been bold enough to just take it." She bit her lip, piercing him with her gaze.

"I am sure that any man would be lucky to have you Venessiel." He said politically, struggling to keep his head in the right place, annoyed with the inefficiency of getting her to agree to anything.

"I don't care about any man, I care about you." She purred.

"Are you not with Mablung now? Does he not satisfy you?" Celeborn asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and meeting her gaze. Very well, if she wanted to play games then he would play along, so long as it got him what he wanted. She never changed. She always had to have power, or the illusion of it and now she was doing that by wasting away the minutes of his life. It would not do to turn her against him now when he needed her support. She laughed.

"He satisfies me well enough," she drank from her wine. "But never the way that you did, never as well as you did. He hasn't the mind that you do."

"Few do." Celeborn chuckled, sipping from his cup.

"I do." She said.

"I know," He replied. That much was undeniable. Despite all of the horrendous problems that their courtship had had, he had never met another woman who had challenged his mind in the way that Venessiel had, that was…until he had met Artanis. Yet she had none of Venessiel's insidious qualities. No, Artanis was quite different, all joy and radiance. The thought of her was the one ray of sunshine in this otherwise intolerably awkward conversation.

"But that was a long time ago." She brushed it away, having gained some silent victory in her mind and then, having perhaps caught the train of his thoughts by his eyes, "I saw the way that you looked at that Noldo girl, the golden haired one. Already there are rumors flying about."

"I hardly know her." He said, truthfully. It would remain truth so long as he said nothing else concerning the subject.

"But you want to know her. I know you." She pierced him with her gaze. "She is but a child."

"She is only some 40 odd years younger than I," he said. "That is a negligible discrepancy in ages. Moreover, you did not seem to mind my age as I recall." Venessiel was far older, one of the first elves to awaken at Cuivenen, and had wandered the forests with the first Sindar, searching for Thingol when he was lost. It was a fact she often lorded over others.

"So you are interested in her." Venessiel smiled her catlike smile. "There now, why can we not be honest with each other?" She was satisfied now, having attained the information that she wanted. Celeborn felt some sort of petty anger rise in him as it always had of old. It seemed to be something that only she could bring out, and she was extraordinarily adept at it.

"Then let me be straightforward with you. I do not know why you are supporting Saeros when Finrod's cause is clearly more advantageous for you." He said.

"Is it? That is quite the sum of money that he desires. What if he cannot make good on his debt, if his Nargothrond is overrun by orcs and we lose our investment entirely. What credentials has he to prove that he is capable of this? Being a prince of Aman is no proof that he can manage anything properly. He is _your _friend Celeborn, not mine; I do not know him as well as you do. I need to know that Menegroth will get a sufficient return upon our investment. Thingol trusts me to make sound financial decisions. I must uphold that duty." She said, tapping her index finger forcefully on the table as she spoke. Her personal qualities may have irked him and he had no doubt that this was exacerbated by their rather intimate history, but he was well aware that Venessiel had a keen mind for business and, so long as the conversation was regulated to that, he did not mind speaking with her at all.

"If I could offer you proof that Finrod knows what he is doing, what then?" Celeborn asked, refilling the wine glasses, more engaged in the conversation now that it was at last going in the direction he desired.

"Then I would be quite amenable to the idea. I know how much Doriath would profit were he to succeed. We could nearly double our economy and our growth. All financial decisions are gambles, no doubt, but I must make well-educated gambles and thus far it has not been proved to me that the risk for this endeavor is low. Do that and you will have me on your side." Celeborn grinned at her words, pleased at last that he had heard what he wished.

"I have always admired your shrewdness," he said. "Very well. Allow me to arrange a private meeting for you and Finrod. I am sure that he can put all of your worries to rest."

"That would be agreeable," she said, smiling. There was the flash in her eyes that he had always seen whenever she stood to make a profit or win some game. "But I should like you to be there as well."

"Your wish is my command, my lady." He stood, straightening his tunic, and she stood as well, surprisingly close to him, her somewhat sadistic icy blue eyes looking up into his own as she played with a strand of his hair, tugging on it, pulling his face down closer to her own.

"You see," she said, her breath hot against his skin, "sometimes when you do things my way you get what you want." She moved to brush her lips against his own, but he raised a finger, placing it between their mouths, stopping her. She grinned and laughed. "That confident smugness you have after you win something…I did always like that about you." She ran her hand down his back as he turned towards the door.

"Until later," he said.

"Until later," she replied. The sun was already rising.

Yet it seemed that Celeborn hardly had a few days rest before trouble was upon him again and he must perform yet another onerous duty. He coughed as he descended the stairs into the smithies, his throat already burning from the heat, smoke, and soot and he hadn't even actually entered them yet. It was the one part of Menegroth that he absolutely detested and his mission was not made any easier by the news that he had come to bear and the displeasure he was sure to incur by delivering it. "Thalaron," he greeted the dark-haired elven smith whom he on the stairs, a young elf but a skilled one.

"Your royal highness," the elf replied as he moved past, pressing a hand to his chest and bowing respectfully.

The dwarves, however, laughed, greeting him jovially as they passed him in the stairwell. Some of them teased him with good-natured humor. "Pointy-eared elven princeling can't handle the heat!" Celeborn grinned and waved them away.

"Frerin, I hope that I find you well," Celeborn greeted the master armorer as he descended at last into the belly of the smithy. "Nar, Telchar," he greeted two of the other accomplished dwarven smiths, stopping to admire their work. "What is this?" He asked Telchar, who was working on a very long sword. "This is something very fine indeed."

"Thank you laddie!" The dwarf laughed and grinned with pride. There was nothing that made a dwarf happier than an honest compliment to his craftsmanship. "I call this blade Narsil and I mean to make her fit for a king."

"Indeed, I can see that she shall be," Celeborn said, and the dwarf nodded his thanks.

"You have business with me Prince Celeborn?" Frerin called, drawing the prince's attention and the Sinda turned, bidding farewell to the others and heading towards the armorer once more.

"I do indeed Frerin," Celeborn said, "Though I fear I do not bring the news that you hope for." The dwarf looked up sharply, anger fomenting in his eyes.

"You cannot be serious…" The dwarf said, a genuinely stunned and perplexed look transforming his face. "He brought us here under the pretext that we would craft goods at his behest, that we would be paid!" The dwarf's confusion had quickly turned to anger and the other dwarves had taken note, beginning gathering around. Perhaps it was the fact that they now surrounded him, or perhaps it was confronting the issue itself that made Celeborn uneasy, but his instincts were on full alert now, as if he were preparing for battle, his feet poised, his hands twitching for his knife.

"I am very sorry," he sought to explain. "I did my best to convince him but he maintains that we have no need for metal armor. He believes that he promised you nothing of the sort, that the offer was merely to provide you with the opportunity to use our forges and be protected by our tariff laws so that you could sell your goods at more advantageous prices. Of course, you are free to sell your goods privately, but I regret to inform you that you will receive no contract with the royal house," Celeborn said.

"The agreement was that Thingol himself would employ our services and that we would be paid well for the goods that we provided him!" Frerin shouted, throwing his hammer down on the floor.

"Aye! That was the deal!" Telchar shouted. The anger of the dwarves had burgeoned, filling the room and Celeborn began to feel even more nervous than he usually did in the smithies. Something about the anger of the dwarves was particularly unnerving and he placed his hand on his hip, moving his fingers back every so slightly to assure himself that his curved knife was there at his back beneath his robes.

"And yet you seem to be able to produce no evidence of the contract while the king maintains that there never was such an agreement. I trust you can see my predicament," he said, his voice having grown steely and his anger getting the better of him. It was a hard business indeed to attempt to resolve a matter in which both sides seemed to be against him and where he received no help but all of the blame. "I have done what I am able, with precious little assistance from you."

"You call yourself a prince?" The dwarf spat. "You are nothing but a messenger boy, running hither and thither doing your King's bidding, letting him boss you about, making no decisions for yourself!"

"I did not promise you a 'yes,' dwarf, I promised you a decision. I have told you what I know and I have told you the king's decision. You are in his domain and thus have no right to dispute it," Celeborn said firmly. "If it please you then I will personally order armor from you, for myself and my own soldiers. It is quality stuff and I should be honored to wear it into battle." At those words some of the tension seemed to dissipate and many of the dwarves stepped back. But Frerin stepped forward and spat upon Celeborn's boots. The prince looked down at the spittle as it slipped from the leather to the floor and then back up at the dwarves, willing himself to remain calm. This he could not tell Thingol of, it would make the king act rashly.

"If this is the way that the king treats us then none of you Sindar deserve to wear our armor, and you never will." The dwarf ground out from between clenched teeth. "I think we would feel a good deal better at the moment if there were not an elf in our midst."

"As you wish," Celeborn said with a bow, but he was only too happy to go, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was not until he was safely out of the smithy and up the seemingly interminable staircase that he released his sweaty grip from the knife at his back.


	6. Chapter 6: A Heart Disquieted

A Heart Disquieted

Doriath: 6th Chapter

"To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people,

that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he

by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones,

why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils,

why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid,

the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter.."

– _Gabriel Garcia Marquez_

Author's note: One of the really satisfying things about when I wrote this story was how the characters started to take on a life of their own and, the more their personalities developed and became cohesive, it became almost as though they were writing the story themselves and I was merely recording it. Finrod was a character who I never expected to develop much, but this chapter is where he really started to come into his own and, before I knew it, he became one of the most dynamic characters of the story and one of my favorites. This is the longest chapter I have ever written but I think it may be one of my favorites. There are just so many threads coming together here. Please enjoy! And, as always, many thanks to my lovely reviewers. Even if you are only able to review every now and then, the reviews really do help me step out of my own mind and determine if the story and characters are progressing in the way that I am hoping for. You guys are great!

The gardens of Menegroth were a mystery to Artanis for although she knew that they were not outside, she could not quite discern how it was that plants managed to grow indoors. Nevertheless, when one was in Menegroth, and especially in the gardens, it was almost impossible to believe that you were not outside underneath the starry sky amidst the verdant forests of Doriath.

Artanis looked up at the ceiling so high above and saw that the late afternoon had turned to dusk, painting the sky in crepuscular colors while twinkling stars emerged. The Sindar would be waking soon. The first few months in Menegroth had been more exhausting than she had anticipated. Of course, it was all very exciting. She spent her nights moving from party to party, the guest of honor at each of them, or with Melian, learning to weave Sindarin fabrics and make lembas, or with Thingol himself, speaking of her days in Aman, for he never tired of hearing of the two trees, even though they were no more. It was, however, perhaps too exciting and the exhaustion from the newness of it all threatened to overwhelm her, constantly.

Some of the luster of the weeks and months following her arrival had worn off and all of her new responsibilities had only served to reinforce that, no matter how much she had learned already since coming to middle earth, here in Menegroth she was still nearly as useless as a child. The initial fantasy of an Artanis who could move seamlessly between the worlds of Noldor and Sindar had been replaced with the incompetent reality of herself. Here her fabrics all came out the wrong color, her lembas was misshapen and damp, and her Sindarin was clumsy and barely passable. Artanis was not used to failing.

Furthermore, the more forward manners and physicality of the Sindar had been a shock to her and had only served to reinforce the concept that she was incapable of anything but the most basic of interactions. Sensing how overwhelmed she had become, and, as ever, anticipating her needs almost before she knew them herself, Melian had granted her a small plot of land in a secluded area of the gardens, which she had encouraged her to cultivate. It was a great relief to her, more than she had anticipated, for it provided her with a place where she did not have to be either Noldo or Sinda, but could be herself, as well as a means by which she could do something for herself and by herself, something she could do well. Yet there had been a certain twinkle in the queen's eye when she had spoken to Artanis of this place and the Noldo yet feared that she would unearth something unusual here, for Melian always seemed to have reasons that were not immediately apparent.

She dug her hands into the soil, still warm from the sun, and closed her eyes, smiling at the earth's comforting touch. Gradually she felt her anger and frustration drain away and she released a long sigh. Finrod liked to laugh at her for growing potatoes, such an ignoble plant, yet she had not forgotten that it had been potatoes that had sustained them over the first miserable winter in middle earth and had the green elves not taught her to cultivate them they might all have starved. They might only be potatoes but at last she knew what to do with them.

Her reverie and temporary foray into self-pity was interrupted rudely by the splattering of cold water on her upturned forehead. Artanis's eyes shot open in surprise and no small amount of ire as she stared upwards with mouth agape and reached up to wipe the water from her face with her sleeve. Water was now dripping slowly from the leaves of the tall oak above her. Eyes narrowed in scrutiny, she eyed the tree suspiciously. This one, she noted, was not part of the cave, but rather a very real tree, though it reached nearly as high as the stone ones, so that she could hardly see its top. It must have been condensation, dew that had formed upon the leaves and spilled at last under the accumulated weight. She sighed and could not help feeling, though of course she knew it was a ridiculous thought, that now it seemed even the trees themselves were judging her, deeming her inadequate.

She returned to the task at hand, moving slightly out of the way so that the water droplets would not fall on her, and knelt in the dirt, pulling the canvas sack filled with sprouting potato tubers to her. Reaching into it she pulled one out, examining the sprouting growths carefully and ensuring that the potato was free from disease before placing it in the ground, then scooted down a bit more and reached into the bag again to withdraw yet another potato, which was precisely when a veritable torrent of water poured down upon her, leaving the Noldorin maid spluttering and wiping water from her eyes. Growing extremely perturbed she sprang to her feet, once more examining the tall oak. Again, the stream of water had diminished to a weak dripping, falling down from the broad leaves above. But now Artanis suspected foul play. This had been no accident; someone was doubtlessly trying to raise her ire.

"Is anyone there?" She called in Sindarin. "I command you show yourself!" She could not fathom who would dare to do such a thing, save her brother, yet play seemed a more likely motivator than malice. "Finrod?" She called, unable to imagine that it could be anyone else who would do something so ignoble, who would harass her about potatoes in such a way. "Finrod, I know you're there!" She circled back around to her potato patch, keeping her eyes pinned on the traitorous tree. "If you wish to tease me you might as well come down and do it to my face!"

Had they been in Aman she could absolutely have lined up a dozen or more overeager suitors to shield her from the watery annoyance as if she were some precious flower or scramble up into the tree to drag whomever it was out to answer to her harsh justice. It had worked quite to her advantage in their younger days, whenever they had had to choose teams. Her dear brother was no doubt taking advantage of their reversed circumstances and her dearth of willing tributes to get away with his pranks. "Fine then brother dear," she said, fists planted on her hips, but she found now that the anger and frustration that had haunted her these past weeks seemed to have dissipated, if only momentarily, and instead her heart grew warm with joy as she recalled the games that she used to play with her brothers as children. "Have it your way then," she said with a smile. "But I'm warning you, just because I no longer have an army of besotted fools to send after you does not mean that I won't take you to task myself if you do it again."

She squatted down once more, returning her attention to her planting, but her muscles were tensed, ready for action, her eyes scanned her peripheral vision, her ears were alert, her hand maintained a firm grip on the potato she held. She hefted it in her hand as she pretended to examine it while waiting for her brother to make his next move. Yes, this potato would do nicely. There it was: a finger reaching out, tipping a leaf full of dew. But the stream of water that rained down missed Artanis entirely for she had been watchful and dodged out of the way. Leaping into the air with her arm drawn back, she launched the potato in a graceful yet deadly curve towards where she had seen the movement, grinning in anticipation of hearing her brother's shriek. But her smile went slack as the potato disappeared into the canopy of the oak and no shriek of any sort was emitted at all. Wary, Artanis waited, her athletic body tensed for action.

Suddenly the potato came hurtling back out of the tree, aimed directly for her head, and she was forced to throw herself to the ground to avoid it. Yet her dive was not for naught and she took the opportunity to swipe three potatoes from the canvas sack. Finrod's aim had improved and if she had not been engaged in the battle before then she certainly was now. Clutching her potatoes she eyed the tree, biting her lip in concentration. She tossed a potato up then caught it in her hand before launching it with lightening speed at the tree, following it in quick succession with the other two. They came back at her almost as quickly and she could not help but laugh. Two of them she dodged while the third she caught bare-handed, returning it immediately with considerable force.

"You're out of your league brother!" She called to him in Quenya as the potato came hurtling back at her. She leapt high to catch it, snatching it from the air with ease. She circled the tree, forced to leap out of the way as another cascade of water came pouring down in her direction. But she had seen his shadow move so high up and she took aim, hurling the potato with all her might, glorious missile of her justice, and heard it connect with a great smack, her heart singing with glee as a yelp of pain met her ears. She let out a whoop of victory but it was short lived for her hidden aggressor must have been in a precarious perch as it seemed that he had lost his footing and was tumbling now through the tree, connecting soundly with the branches on the way down. Artanis grimaced, Finrod would certainly be irate with her tomorrow when his bruises were sure to blossom.

But the figure who tumbled forth from the tree's leafy embrace to fall with an unfortunate thud to the earth below was not Finrod at all, no, it was Celeborn, the High Prince of Beleriand. Artanis felt her heart freeze in horror as a gasp of surprise died upon her lips. Of all of her egregious cultural mishaps…this was undoubtedly the worst. What had she done? Thingol's prince! The Prince of all Doriath! The prince whom she had found so alluringly attractive, who was kind and funny and…oh no! She blushed half in shame and half in embarrassment that, at a time like this, her mind had run to such ridiculous notions as romance.

"Your highness!" She cried, running to where he lay, one potato still clutched in her sweaty hand. Celeborn was not moving, his eyes closed and his mouth gone slack. Artanis threw herself to the ground beside him, gingerly reaching out to smooth his silver hair back from his forehead, her fingers going to his throat, searching for a pulse. Dear Valar! She had killed the Prince of Doriath and Thingol would have their heads for it, expel them from Beleriand forever, banish her people! And how could she ever live with what she had done, having killed this man who alone of all the people here had passed no judgment upon her, this prince who was so beloved by his people? Hot tears rose to her eyes as her skin turned clammy with sweat and her hands trembled. But, yes, there – could that be a pulse? And just as she started to feel the beginnings of relief, Celeborn opened his eyes lazily, looking up at her with a catlike grin as he plucked the potato from her hand and bit into it with a loud crunch, chewing slowly and deliberately.

"Scared?" He muttered with a laugh.

Artanis looked down at his leaf green eyes, her mouth agape, and did the only thing that she could think to do: she slapped him across his beautiful smug face. "How dare you?" She demanded to know, eyes flashing, all of her previous romantic notions of him, and any regard for propriety or royal office abandoned in the wake of her anger. "You allowed me to suppose that I had killed you! Already I was troubling over how I should break the terrible news to the King! I have had enough of you Sindar and your games and your jokes. They aren't funny to me, they're cruel!" But Celeborn merely laughed, long and hard.

"I am not quite dead yet," he said, still grinning, his mouth full of raw potato, a red mark blooming on the side of his face where her open palm had made contact, "and I hope I shall never be. Though I know not whether that news saddens or gladdens you." He took another bite of the potato.

"Celeborn - ," she started to scold him.

"Galadhonian," he said, supplying her with the patronymic that she had only just realized she did not know, ready to accept his scolding.

"Celeborn Galadhonian, of course I am happy that you are alive," Artanis said with half the mind to slap him again. "Though I find that I cannot help but think it would be just recompense if you were even a little bit hurt."

"Consider your wish granted oh exalted daughter of Earwen, for unless I am greatly mistaken," he said, brandishing the half-eaten potato at her with his left hand, "my other arm is broken."

"Oh no!" She whispered, once more forgetting her anger as remorse took its place. Her eyes turned downwards to his left arm, which was indeed lying at a strange and unnatural angle. "Oh no…" she repeated, reaching out gingerly to touch it. Celeborn hissed as her hands made contact with his arm and she withdrew them quickly, as if she had touched hot coals. "Forgive me," she said, "I am not a healer and I do not know what to do."

"Alas, if I were a more romantic man I might say that the sight of your face worrying over me is medicine enough," Celeborn said, "yet it seems that I am not, and it is not, and that I shall need to see a healer indeed."

"Of course," Artanis said, offering him her hands as he stuffed the last bit of the potato in his mouth. He pulled himself up one-handed and together they began the trek to the healers' quarters. "I am very sorry," Artanis said. "Does it not pain you greatly?"

"It hurts," Celeborn shrugged, "but I have endured much worse. I imagine it shall be more of a bother than anything."

"You must be ever so angry at me," she said, fiddling with her hands nervously.

"Not at all," Celeborn said with a smile that put her at ease. "We were both having a good deal of fun were we not? Besides, it was I who provoked you and I who have gotten my due comeuppance. Had I been more judicious in my footing and less hasty to agitate you I might not have fallen at all."

"Regardless, I am very sorry," she insisted.

"You have a very good arm," he said. "I must admit that I was surprised."

"Clearly," she laughed, raising a brow at the broken arm that he cradled now in his good one.

"You throw better than you fight," he said with a grin.

"Ha!" She scoffed. "Perhaps you have gotten your just deserts! There are a number of things that I can do very well only you don't know about them." Yet her heart pounded within her chest.

"As I have noticed," he said. "You seem to be very adept at growing plants. You learned that from the green elves, did you not?"

"How do you know that?" She asked, a bit surprised, for in truth they hardly knew one another.

"You dig trenches instead of holes," he said. "The Sindar dig holes."

"Maybe," she said with a sly smile. "Or maybe I learned in Valinor."

"You play false with me my lady. There are no potatoes in Valinor, or so your brother tells me."

"You've caught me then," she said. "It was the Laiquendi who taught me after all."

"That's very interesting," Celeborn shrugged.

"And why is that?" She asked, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Some of your people seem very reticent to adopt any foreign ways," he said with a shrug, hissing at the pain it caused him.

"We are not all the same you know," she said a bit sharply, her ire turning upon him as the various feelings she had experienced in the past few weeks flooded back upon her. "I don't think you're all the same so why should you think that of me?"

"Peace, peace lady, that is not what I meant," he replied with a chuckle and the silence stretched between them.

"Why were you in that tree watching me plant potatoes in the first place?" Artanis asked him, somewhat accusingly, though mostly she inquired out of curiosity.

"I did not mean to happen across you. I was already in the tree when you arrived," he told her. "I have been raising those trees since they were saplings and I go there often to tend to them and converse with them. I do love Menegroth and, indeed, I find the stone trees to be very lovely yet my heart longs for real trees not only in the out of doors, but also here within the palace."

And Artanis contemplated his words and what remained unsaid, for this gave no explanation as to why he had decided to dump water on her head, such a childish thing to do. Questions ran hither and thither within her mind. Was she simply misinterpreting his actions? Was it a matter of the cultural difference? But, unless she was very sorely mistaken, unless she had mistaken everything that had passed between them since his arrival, he was interested in her, romantically interested. _Yet he has such a very strange way of showing it,_ she thought with some measure of indignance_. Or was this a typical way to show affection amongst the Sindar: pouring water on your beloved's head and lobbing missiles at them?_ Any proper prince of Aman would have offered her pearls and diamonds, gold and silver, bouquets of the finest flowers from Lorien or the most snowy white swans from Alqualonde's ornamental ponds.

_But,_ she reminded herself, _all of the pearls of Alqualonde and all of the diamonds of Tirion did not make you happy, nor did any of those 'proper' princes. Yet Celeborn is a prince, properly a prince, _she reminded herself_, only he does not act like one, or at least not one from Aman._ It was a silly thought, she now realized, for why should he, how could he act like a prince from Aman, seeing as he was not? Why ought she have to have expected such a thing of him? _I am only upset now because it makes me feel foolish, this confusion, this wondering what his interest in me is._ And why? The answer was plain though she knew not what to make of it: because he expects me to move towards him just as he moves towards me, a curious predicament for one who had always found herself being courted, who had always sat and waited in her ivory tower for this and that to be brought and presented before her but never once risen from her throne to go to _them_.

Her mind wandered back to that time when they had sparred and suddenly she felt as though Celeborn had created some puzzle for her and he was now expecting her to fit the pieces together. _This time, I want you to dance with me, _he had said, and at the time she had thought that he wanted her to _dance_ but now she wondered if not the _with me _had been the more important operative. _It is a simple thing, _she thought, for already she had taken a far greater step: she had left Valinor and come to this land, made her home in a place entirely foreign to her. By that reason, it should not have been any more difficult for her to take this one small step towards him, and yet she was afraid, remembering Nerdanel, Anaire, her mother…left behind. _And he would leave you too, if only he knew what crime you had committed, if only he knew that your hands were red with the blood of your own kin, that you were cursed by Mandos himself. _A cage – she had always thought of Aman as her cage…yet, a world in which the those you loved spurned you entirely, as Nerdanel had been spurned…as Anaire had been spurned…as her mother…was there any prison more terrible than that? A fell chill gripped her heart as of a hoarfrost.

They had arrived at the healer's quarters and she scurried to open the door so that Celeborn would not have to move his injured arm and a gaggle of nurses descended upon them immediately, speaking to the prince in anxious tones and fussing over his arm. Artanis could not understand them very well for medical language was difficult and very specialized besides, so she did not speak until she and Celeborn were ushered to several chairs while a nurse drew a curtain about them. They sat opposite each other in the private enclosed space and a sudden awkwardness seemed to descend upon them that had not been there before, as if the room were too small to hold everything that they wished to say to each other but hadn't.

"The healer will be with us shortly," Celeborn said, relaying the nurse's message to her and she nodded in acknowledgement while they sat in silence for now Artanis put aside her earlier discontent and was growing increasingly worried instead. She had done Celeborn and Doriath a great disservice, for he could not now draw his bow nor wield his axe. And, selfishly, she worried that this unfortunate event would make him dislike her, or think her foolish and childish. _But do you even want him, or do you merely wish to make him want you? _Her mind reminded her. _Are you too afraid to take that step?_

"Your Sindarin has improved rapidly," he said, breaking the silence, glancing up at her with a grin as though he had noticed her disquiet and wished to set her at ease. "It was not so very long ago that you could not hold a conversation."

"My thanks," she replied courteously, "it has not improved as much as I would have liked." He laughed softly.

"Are you always so impatient?" He asked, grinning at her, fixing her with a look of curiosity and the words brought a smile to her face. Something about his mannerisms, his movements, intrigued her: that confidence, the self-assuredness; his movements were deft, effortless, graceful yet at the same time he put on no regal airs. If it had not been for the color of his hair, she might have thought him just a commoner. He would be at home in any alehouse. She almost managed to relax.

"My mother would say so," she said, "and she would attribute it to my father's Noldorin blood. The Teleri take their time with things, she says. My haste used to agitate her ever so greatly…your highness," she added to the end of her sentence, remembering that she was talking to a prince, and a high prince at that. It would not do to be so horribly informal with him, this was not the sparring ring after all, but the palace, and she had already vastly overstepped her bounds.

"You do not need to refer to me with such formality," he said, waving his hand, "for you yourself are a princess of Aman are you not?" He had meant it rhetorically but Artanis answered anyway.

"Merely a minor princess," she replied. This was a lie. She was no minor princess, not since Finwe's death. With Fingolfin in exile and Feanor dead the crown must have fallen to her father. He would be high king now, and she a high princess of Aman. But they were sworn not to speak of those matters…

"I thought there were no crown princesses amongst the Noldor," Celeborn said, "or so I heard from Finrod. Your brother says that females cannot inherit. Does that not mean that all princesses are minor princesses?"

"Yes, that is right," she said. "I merely meant that I am not a high princess. But, even if I were the highest princess of Valinor," which she was, though in secret, "I would still not be your equal, you being a crown prince, as I could never be a crown princess, such as Luthien is. Truly, I do wish for a realm of my own, even as my brother has, but I have no right to rule."

Celeborn shrugged. "My pardon if I offend, but it seems a silly law to me. Women are no less capable of governance. A king is only a king so long as he can keep his crown. I see no reason why you shouldn't be a queen so long as you can retain the crown."

"It is different there, your highness," she said. "It is all about bloodlines and politics, not tests of combat and being strong enough to maintain one's rule."

"Just Celeborn, please," he said, fixing her with his gaze. "Perhaps we have not passed much time in conversation, yet I often find that actions are a truer measure of a person than words. To this point you have done nothing other than prove that you are my equal in every way. How could I see you as anything other than that?" He was bold, very bold, and she shied away.

"Perhaps we should not speak of such things," Artanis said, dropping her gaze, for already she had strayed near the issue of Finwe's death and too much talk of Aman made her nervous. Then there was the fact that Celeborn was aptly called 'the wise' and though he had not Melian's gift of peering into minds, he seemed to be able to read her heart uncannily well without it. Yet his eyes rested heavily upon her. It was perhaps his most striking feature, the ability to make himself felt long after he had left a room, and she knew that she would be feeling the weight of where his gaze had lain for many days afterwards, and the questions that his gaze had conjured in her mind.

He seemed to relinquish his line of questioning and they sat in silence as Artanis chewed her lip while directing a covert glance at his arm to attempt to ascertain the extent of the injury. He wore no tunic but the sleeves of his cotton undershirt were rolled up, revealing muscled forearms well bronzed by the sun. There was no bone showing and no blood; perhaps it was not so bad. Her gaze strayed and she could not help but notice that his shoulders were very broad and that the front of his shirt was open ever so slightly, his silver hair a magnificent contrast to the tanned skin of his chest. She had never had such bold thoughts before about a male and, growing embarrassed at herself, she turned her eyes back to her clasped hands so as not to be caught looking.

"Why did you leave?" Celeborn asked her suddenly, his eyes catching hers. "For it seems to me that you lived in paradise there in the blessed realm and I have labored away here my whole life to cleanse this land of Melkor's filth to no avail."

"I…" Artanis stammered, caught off her guard, having believed that he would not press. How was it that one man could make her feel so extraordinarily comfortable in one instant and so intolerably uncomfortable in the next? Melian had once told her that the prince had a unique trait of perceiving clearly and laying bare that which others would prefer to keep hidden, now she saw that it was true. With no small amount of unease she thought of how Thingol's people had tracked their people for years as they had wandered the forests, even unseen, secreting information back to their master. _How much does he know?_ She wondered.

She raised her head to look at him as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hair hanging in her face, thinking how she would answer. The prince's eyes seemed to pierce her own as he waited for her answer while the silence was drawn out between them until it seemed about to snap, like the string of a bow. It was then that he did the unthinkable: he reached out with his good hand, breaching the distance between them with a certain disregard, grinning at her as if he was daring her almost, and, to her great disbelief, he caught a lock of her hair in his hands and wrapped it about his fingers, playing with it as though it were nothing more than a toy or a pretty trinket rather than her most prized posession.

"Why did you leave Galadriel?"

She was entirely taken aback, indeed, she knew not what to do. It was one thing to touch her hair, an act reserved for lovers alone, something she had not even allowed Feanor, her kinsman and the greatest of the Noldor, it was another thing entirely to call her by an epessë, especially one he had so clearly contrived for her himself. It was absolutely unbelievable that he would do both of these forbidden things at one time. A strange mixture of emotions ran through her. Had this happened in the great square of Tirion all those gathered there would have drawn their swords to defend her honor. And there was the nastier, darker thought that rose unbidden from within her breast: that despite her earlier words regarding equality, and rank, and nobility, it was a shocking thing indeed that a…a _Moriquendi, _one born in darkness, untouched by the light of the trees, would dare to lay his hand upon a Calaquendi maiden. Nay! With an almighty strength of mind she pushed those thoughts back down into the grave where they belonged, buried with Feanor, or what had remained of his smoldering ruin.

In its place burgeoned a strange…gratefulness; gratefulness that Celeborn had not placed her on some pedestal, gratefulness that he was not frightened of her, that he was not intimidated by her, that he found her…touchable. And from this gratefulness grew the seed of something else, something burning, racing through her body. He was all pale and silver, the colors of water, cold steel and unknowable, but, Valar, did he ignite some conflagration in her blood, like white fire. Yet she shrank back from that fire, afraid, for she feared it would immolate her rather than fuel her, and so her pride won out, though even that faltered in its security.

"If…if…" she stammered, blushing red from embarrassment, "if we were in Valinor they would cut off your hand and cut out your tongue for what you have just done…" But there was neither strength nor resolution behind her words and thus she betrayed their falseness and her fear.

But Celeborn only grinned and tightened his hold on her hair. "But we are not in Valinor," he said, "and you are not stopping me. You are not a woman who stays her hand, earlier, even, you slapped me, yet you do not do so now. Why…Galadriel? What do you want?"

It was true, she could have stopped him, could have put him off, and yet she had not, and, as he had said, she was not a woman who staid her hand when it wanted for action. Even now she sat, watching him as he idly played with the golden tress he held in his hand, tugging on it gently. He fixed his gaze upon her, so intense that she felt almost naked. He knew, and she knew, the reason that even now her hair remained in his grasp; despite an upbringing in Valinor that had taught her that this was repugnant, despite her pride, despite her fear and uncertainty…she wanted him to touch her…and she wanted to touch him.

They sat in tense silence and then slowly, with a shaking hand, Artanis reached out, beginning the forbidden act, as if compelled more by instinct than by thought, reaching for that silver bright hair, like a shower of stars, and she was almost there, the step was nearly complete…but ere she could touch it, the sound of the curtain being drawn open reached both their ears and they practically leapt apart, both too startled by the entrance of the king to realize that they had each been trembling with nervous excitement but a moment earlier. Artanis leapt to her feet to greet the king and whatever had passed between her and Celeborn had come to an end.

"Peace daughter of Earwen. You may be seated," Thingol said with a smile, seemingly having not noticed what he had just interrupted, before turning to his nephew. "My wayward child," he said, "Melian told me that you had been injured. Tell me, what trouble has your mischief gotten you into now?"

Artanis could feel her heart hammering in her chest in anticipation of the king's anger and she swallowed loudly. Celeborn's eyes glanced towards her and she thought for the briefest of moments that he might spare her by eliminating the details of her involvement in his accident but that relief was short lived indeed for Celeborn spoke, saying: "Whilst I was attending to my trees the Lady Artanis arrived in the gardens to tend to her potatoes. Seeing her there unawares and finding myself hidden in the tree, I proceeded to pour water upon her head, at which point the Lady Artanis became as enraged as a wild boar and began lobbing potatoes at me which I saw fit to return her way. Eventually our good natured fun got a bit out of hand and I was hit by one of her projectiles, which caused me to tumble from the tree, thus breaking my arm."

"I was not like a wild boar!" Artanis exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that she was before the king and must act with propriety. "Forgive me," she said, folding her hands primly in her lap. Thingol merely laughed at her forgotten propriety and then made as though to speak several times but it seemed as if he could not find the words and finally he sighed, shaking his silver head.

"Is this true?" Thingol asked at last, turning to Artanis. "Did you knock my nephew from the tree with a well aimed potato?" Artanis turned to glare at Celeborn, who was grinning at her, well pleased with himself. Somehow it seemed that he always got the best of her and Artanis was not used to being bested.

"It is true," she said. But it was not Thingol's anger that she faced; rather, it seemed as though he looked…impressed. The king sat in thought for a moment before raising his eyebrows and nodding slowly at her.

"She has a good arm," he said, turning to Celeborn.

"That is what I told her," the prince replied.

"You deserve to have your arm broken," Thingol told him.

"Indeed I do," Celeborn said with a grin. "But I cannot pretend that it was not worth the trouble to see her warg-like snarl."

"And you could probably do with a bit of water every now and again to cool that hot head of yours," Thingol said to Artanis.

"I do not snarl like a warg," she hissed at Celeborn. He merely bared his teeth at her and growled in imitation, but before Thingol could reprimand him the healer entered. She too fussed over his broken arm, but, to Artanis's pleasure, with none of the tenderness that the nurses had shown. At last the arm was splinted, bandaged, and put in a sling, all with sharp warnings from the healer to rest and not overly exert himself. Somehow, Artanis thought with a small smile as she headed back to her quarters, she doubted that the prince would heed the healer's instructions.

"Venessiel is fond of playing with her food before she eats it. You would do well to remember that. But dangle something before her that she cannot have and she will surely bite," Celeborn said to Finrod as they walked side by side down the hallway.

"Never fear my friend. You forget that I have had to contend with Artanis my entire life. I assure you that I can handle whatever tricks she wishes to throw my way." Finrod said.

"A few weeks ago I would have said that I doubt that your sister is as wily as you make her out to be," Celeborn said. "Yet I know better now." He stiffly raised his broken arm, still in its sling. But Celeborn knew that Finrod had been an accomplished statesman in Aman and he was not overly concerned about his ability to handle the Sindarin councilwoman.

"By the way, is it true that she was your lover?" The Noldo asked.

"Artanis?" Celeborn asked, puzzled, "I have already told you not to put trust in those rumors," but Finrod gave him a strange look.

"Of course not. I meant Venessiel."

"Yes, though that was a long time ago," Celeborn replied and Finrod chuckled.

"Well that explains a great many things doesn't it. Ah, we have arrived." The Noldo said, knocking upon the council chamber door before entering. The Lady Venessiel rose to greet them with a smile that could have turned a thousand hearts, though whether to war or to peace he knew not.

"My Prince Celeborn, my Lord Finrod, I bid you welcome." They seated themselves as she continued to speak. "I am ever so eager to hear your plans Lord Finrod, for the prince speaks so very highly of you. But I must implore you to understand that as the Minister of the Treasury I will only vote to fund those projects that offer a high return for relatively little risk. It is my duty to protect Menegroth's treasury and, thus far, I find your proposal wanting. I hope that you can put my mind at ease." She said, leaning forward with her bare arms on the table. But Finrod had seen that glint many times before in the eye of many a man and he knew that it signified a gambler.

"I understand the importance of your duties and I will do my best to set you mind at ease in that respect. I assure you that Prince Celeborn spoke most highly of you as well my Lady, though I fail to see how anyone could not do so." Finrod said with a bow and his most charming of smiles. "You strike me as one who knows that reward does not come without proportionate risk. In that regard, I must admit, I was expecting a lady with less conservative tastes." He flashed her another grin, completely at ease. Celeborn had to stifle a snicker when he saw Venessiel's somewhat scandalized expression. She had no idea what to do with the Noldo.

"Conservative…?" She managed to choke out. Celeborn liked to imagine that she was worried that Finrod thought she looked prudish. In a sleeveless gauzy dress that they could quite literally see through, she looked anything but conservative.

"Yes, conservative." Finrod spoke bluntly, a skill learned from Celeborn himself. "To tell you the truth, my impression was that you were one who seeks a little bit of adventure, who thrives on a little bit of risk…or a lot…and yet here you are telling me that you want to reap all of the spoils to be gained from my Nargothrond without taking any of the chances." Finrod set the chest that he had brought upon the table and deftly flipped open the golden latches, letting the lid fall open. From the top he took a map of the site where he proposed to build Nargothrond and spread it out upon the table. "This is the map that I drew up with Thingol himself, who provided expert knowledge of the region, and with the assistance of his most skilled cartographers, who have already surveyed the area." Then, from within the box, and with no small amount of ceremony, he began to draw objects of great wonder, treating them as though they were little more than trash.

"Silver." He withdrew a girdle of pure silver that sparkled like starlight and threw it down carelessly on the table before her. "Here are veins of silver, enough to produce millions of belts like this." He pointed at the map as Venessiel admired the fine filigree work of the girdle, ran her fingers over the elegant engraving.

"Gold." Finrod took out a beautiful hair comb with figures of deer and foxes upon it. "Enough to make billions of such combs. Here are the veins of gold." He pointed to the map. "All of these mines were discovered by the petty dwarves that used to live in this region but have since gone, abandoning their mines. We have been to the area and I have seen the entire place with my own eyes. But not all that Nargothrond has to offer is purely for fancy, nay, we can offer more useful metals as well."

"Copper." He withdrew a copper plate depicting a hunting scene. "With which you can make anything, even sturdy hulls for ships, protecting them from disease and barnacles. Could you not sell this to Cirdan at the havens? Does he not have need of copper?"

"Iron." He withdrew a dagger. "For the swords that will spell the doom of Melkor."

"And…there are other things. Jewels." He pulled out an elegant crown of gold wrought with vibrant emeralds, sapphires, and rubies, gently placing it upon her head. "For a woman who deserves to be a princess. I assure you that my cousins will pay an absurdly high price for jewels."

"But perhaps wealth is not your true concern. Perhaps it is safety." Finrod continued, taking the crown from Venessiel's head and tossing the other objects back into the chest unceremoniously. Celeborn watched her eyes stray towards the chest, longing to touch them again. Finrod was like a ringmaster and Venessiel was his captive audience, he dazzled her with the fantastic while all the while deftly practicing his craft – making it look effortless, a true salesman.

"You need not concern yourself over the safety of Nargothrond. It is well hidden, a secret realm like Menegroth. I will take with me some 4,000 of my people and there, from the hidden realm of Nargothrond we will wage a guerilla war upon Melkor and his demons. Beleriand will grow stronger under the union of our swords, impervious to evil forces until, at last, we drive him from these shores together. Do not tell me that a magnificent woman such as yourself is so tied to the past that she is unwilling to risk for the future." Finrod's voice was thick with excitement and, though it was now barely a whisper, it permeated the room like a drug.

"Nay, even now I see it in your eyes, yearning. You are caged here and it isn't enough for you, isn't big enough for you and your dreams. You want to get out, to escape, and you want to turn all of it to your will. You want to know when it is your turn and my reply is that your turn is now, at this very moment. Everything that you want is within your grasp: jewels, gold, silver, minerals, resources. With another citadel, with strong allies, your people will be free to go where you please without fear of Melkor. It lies at your fingertips. Are you strong enough to grasp it?" Even Celeborn was left speechless in the wake of Finrod's passion as the Noldo's eyes burned into Venessiel's. Slowly, with a satisfied smile upon her face, the lady extended her hand towards Finrod.

"Exclusive trade privileges for Menegroth." She said. Finrod grasped her hand.

"Done. So do I have your vote?"

"A lady does not kiss and tell Sir," she said coyly, "but I will speak to the King. And, know that when the vote is cast, I will strongly consider your suit."

"Then I await your kiss, my Lady," Finrod said with a grin, bending to kiss her ring, the ring of a minister of Doriath.

"Not yet," she said, rising and, with one last flirtatious smile at Finrod, sweeping from the room.

"CELEBORN!" Beleg cried and Finrod and Celeborn both ducked beneath the surface of the hot bath water to avoid the bar of soap that the warden sent flying in their direction, emerging only when it was safe. Celeborn was still snickering gleefully for it had been he who had instigated the altercation, striking Beleg square in the stomach with a bar of soap. Finrod looked about warily to be sure the Beleg really had gone and then he relaxed against the side of the tub, idly playing with the white flowers that grew there.

"You led me to believe that Venessiel was more of a threat, yet she was easily purchased." Finrod said later as they relaxed in the baths.

"Oh Venessiel has a keen mind, make no mistake. Had you not been able to show her hard evidence that the money is there, had you not been able to show her exact numbers she would have rejected you, flat out. However, as you correctly presumed, she cannot resist a gamble, she is an addict of sorts, as most people who deal with money are. And she makes the mistake of equating it with authority." Celeborn replied.

"Besides," he ducked beneath the surface and then rose, wiping water out of his eyes, "she had already made up her mind. It was you that she was testing and – she likes to be courted, she likes you to put on a show for her. She must be wooed."

"I thought you were not supposed to get that wet," Finrod said, gesturing to Celeborn's splinted arm.

"Oh," the Sinda looked at it as though he had quite forgotten, "I suppose I am not." He rested it on the side of the bath.

Finrod laughed and raised his eyebrows. "Venessiel," he said, continuing their conversation, "sounds like a lot of work."

"She was," Celeborn whispered with a grimace. "Why, you're not interested in her are you?" He glanced at Finrod.

"No, No!" Finrod exclaimed, waving his hands in a gesture of denial. "She is a very attractive woman but no, not at all! I was merely making conversation! You…you aren't jealous are you?"

"No," Celeborn shook his head. "If you had wanted I would have recommended you to her, though I certainly would not advise it…"

"Thank you, my friend, but that will not be necessary. My heart, alas, is given to one whom I am fated to never meet again," Finrod said with a ponderous sigh.

"Forgive me, I did not know that you were betrothed," Celeborn said, surprised, for he and Finrod had become the closest of friends yet never before had the Noldo spoken to him of this matter, though many other conversations concerning private matters had passed between them.

"Had been," Finrod said, "had been betrothed…I am no longer."

"My apologies. I did not mean to be intrusive," Celeborn replied, thinking it best to press no further into this sensitive topic that he had inadvertently stumbled into.

"Amarie, that is her name," Finrod said, sighing and shaking his head. "Amarie of the Vanyar, with hair like spun gold. She loved me…and I loved her…and I left her." He paused, the silence growing long and Celeborn remained quiet, sensing that what his friend needed now was for him to only listen. "I…I sometimes wonder, nay, I often wonder if I have made a terrible mistake in coming here…" Finrod said, his voice faltering and a shadow seeming to pass over him.

"Surely you can return when you like and, if you do return…if you truly love one another, then perhaps all is not lost Finrod."

"But it is Celeborn! It is all lost," Finrod spoke with a hint of anger like a flash in the pan, quick to ignite and just as easily burned out. "I am Sorry," the Noldo murmured, "it is just that thinking of that matter makes me very cross indeed, but that is not your fault of course." They fell silent and Celeborn sensed that Finrod would very much like to change the subject.

"Tell me, Celeborn," the Noldo said, his face brightening, "do you not have a lady of you own? For I have heard that you do not, but I find that very difficult to believe."

"Aye, that is true!" Celeborn replied. "I have no lady at present."

"Is that so?" Finrod laughed. "But you have had many in the past have you not? You have that sense about you."

"That sense? Pray tell Finarfinian, what do you mean by that?" Celeborn asked, wrinkling his brow in mock disdain. "I fear they were all short lived."

"And why is that?"

"I see no sense in continuing things that aren't working."

"A discerning man…" Finrod grinned at his friend. "Tell me, what do you prefer? Perhaps I might be able to find you a wonderful Noldorin girl."

Celeborn shrugged. "Someone interesting, someone who challenges me…I would have said dark hair until…well…"

"Until when?" Finrod asked, his brow furrowed, turning to his friend. "Celeborn, you must understand that I have heard the rumors… about you and my sister. Neither one of you has been particularly discreet. Is there any truth to them?"

"No, no, of course not," Celeborn replied, but Finrod noted that his questions had engendered some nervousness in the perpetually confident Sinda. "I think of your sister as a friend and nothing more. Indeed, I hardly know her at all."

And, though his words eased Finrod's heart somewhat, the Noldo did not entirely believe what his friend had said. "It is…it is just, well, you know that Artanis has had many suitors before, high princes of the Vanyar, the Noldor, the Teleri…and she has rejected all of them without a second thought."

Celeborn had to bite his tongue to keep from reprimanding his friend, from reminding him that he too was a Teler, for he knew that the Noldo did not hold to that opinion, that they considered the Sindar to be completely severed from the Teleri, one Calaquendi and the other, himself, Moriquendi. "Are you saying that you do not believe your sister will ever allow herself to be courted?" He asked.

"No," said Finrod, haltingly, sensing that he trod now on delicate ground, wary of provoking Celeborn's more volatile side, even as he increasingly began to suspect that his friend's interest in his sister was not as innocent as he claimed. It wasn't that he did not like Celeborn, for, indeed, he was his dearest friend, it was merely that he could not ever imagine his proud sister, with all of her penchants for glory, fame, wealth, and power, ever marrying a woodland elf. And if any of the Sindar ever sought to court her, he was nearly positive that she would reject them even more cruelly than the princes of Aman, even if that elf were the high prince of Beleriand. "It is just that…well…Artanis wants for wealth, and power, and glory, and a crown of her own…not to live in a forest all her life, even if it is as a queen. Any Sindarin man who sought her hand would doubtlessly have his heart broken. My sister can be cruel."

"She has spoken to me of her desire for her own kingdom, but have you not just said that the princes of Aman sought to court her?" Celeborn asked. "So in other words she has already been offered all of these things that you say she desires and she rejected them. Perhaps you do not know what you sister wants. Perhaps she wants for something you have not thought of, or perhaps she needs something she did not anticipate. Most of us do not always realize at first what it is that we truly need." The prince's tone had been terse and Finrod judged it prudent to remain silent. Yet, the bubbling animosity between the two friends, one believing that his friend sought to deceive him in his intentions towards his sister, the other believing that his friend saw him as unworthy of her, threatened to spill over and Celeborn wisely quashed it before it could erupt.

"Oi, MABLUNG!" The Sindarin prince shouted, rising up out of the water with a bar of soap in his good hand, ready and aimed.

"Celeborn no!" Finrod cried, but his pleas were in vain. Biting his lip and narrowing his eyes Celeborn lobbed the soap at the black-haired march warden and Finrod watched in despair as it collided with a sound smack into Mablung's posterior. Giving up on actually enjoying his bath, Finrod quickly ducked beneath the surface once more as Mablung began to return fire.

But, despite the uneasiness that both of them had felt when discussing Artanis, it was not very long after that she was once more the topic of conversation between them, for the vote had passed and Thingol had generously provided everything that Finrod could have hoped for to start his new realm. But it seemed that the one thing that Finrod would not be taking with him, and something that Thingol could not give him, was the one thing that Finrod had wanted to take with him most of all: his sister.

"I have heard that the Lady Artanis will not be going with you," Celeborn remarked, helping Finrod load provisions into the hundreds of trunks that lay open about the chamber. It was a topic he was somewhat hesitant to raise, for he had only heard unconfirmed rumors, but his curiosity prevented him from staying his tongue.

They had been packing for days. There were cloaks woven by Melian and her maidens, an abundance of weaponry, casks of wine, tools, canoes, and fresh baked lembas still arriving from the kitchens. If there was anything that Finrod had learned in Doriath it was that the generosity of the Sindar knew no bounds. It was more, far more than Finrod had expected and even Celeborn had seemed surprised by it.

"I'm sorry Celeborn I wasn't listening," he said, for he had been so concentrated on how they were to get all of these things to the site of Nargothrond and still elves were filtering in and out, bringing more and more gifts.

"I have heard that the Lady Artanis will be staying in Menegroth," Celeborn repeated himself.

"Yes, that is true," said Finrod and it briefly occurred to him that, once again, that Celeborn seemed unusually interested in Artanis but he did not dwell on the thought for there were far more pressing matters on his mind at the moment.

"I would have thought that she would choose to journey with you," Celeborn said. "Has she given any particular reason for wishing to stay?" From the stormy look that flashed momentarily across Finrod's face, the Sinda could see that he had touched upon a nerve. Clearly Finrod was not pleased that his sister was not going and they had likely argued over it.

"I believe that she wishes to continue her studies with Melian," Finrod said with a hint of agitation in his voice but he was still distracted, counting barrels of wine, "though she was rather opaque about the matter."

"That may be the wiser choice, given her condition," Celeborn said. As soon as he said it he realized that it was, perhaps, one of those things that he ought to have kept to himself. Sometimes Celeborn wished most heartily that he could take back his own words.

"Her condition?" Finrod asked, turning about fully to face his friend, brow furrowed. "Whatever do you mean by that?" Celeborn wanted to tell him to forget that he had said anything at all but he knew that Finrod would never accept that answer.

"Her…visions…" Celeborn said tentatively, not wishing to offend his friend. Finrod shrugged.

"And I sometimes have visions too. Foresight is common amongst the Eldar. What of it?" The Noldo's voice was more than a bit perturbed and he turned away, loading pick axes into a crate.

"But, yours are not…hers are not the same as yours," Celeborn chose his words carefully, though he still felt as though he had entered a minefield of sorts.

"Speak clearly Celeborn. I have never known you to mince your words," Finrod said with a sigh, some of the tension draining from his voice. Now he merely sounded tired. But Finrod was distracted and their conversation lapsed into silence as he tended to other things while Celeborn's mind retreated into the past, to his memories of a festival a few weeks prior that they had held at Thingol's behest to congratulate the young Noldorin prince on his impending kingship.

Even Saeros and Oropher had not been able to feign haughty indifference to the festivities that night, but had joined in the feasting and the drinking and even the dancing with a great deal of merriment. And Celeborn had watching in amusement, laughing all the while as a drunken Oropher had boldly wrapped an arm about Venessiel's lithe waist and drawn the protesting yet smiling Minister of the Treasury into a jig.

But his eyes only regarded them momentarily before returning once more to that person who seemed to hold his gaze ever captive. He had never been one to pine after girls, yet it had been the memory of the flash of fire in her eyes, the way that her athletic body had flexed when she had leapt in the air, the radiance of her smile, the concern in her kind eyes and not the pain in his arm that had kept him awake during the day, when everyone else was asleep. He raised a hand, running his fingers through his hair; she had almost touched it, she had wanted to, he was certain of it, had seen it in her eyes. And yet there had been fear there as well. He smiled to himself and wondered if that was how things were in Aman, if ladies took no active part in courting the man that was courting them. _How very dull,_ he thought. He supposed that he could have asked Finrod if things were that way in Aman, _but no, that will not do, for then he would know and grow angry._

He would have liked to ask her to dance with him, wondered if she would have agreed, but his arm hung uselessly in its sling. That, he mused, was mostly his own fault, for Artanis's potato had landed a solid blow but he never would have fallen if he had not been so distracted by her that he could hardly keep his own thoughts straight, much less tread with as much agility as he was accustomed within the trees that he himself had raised, in which every branch and every leaf was known to him well. Thingol had understood this too and, though he had enough of a sense of propriety to not unmask Celeborn's desires so plainly before the object of them there in the healers' quarters, the prince knew that his uncle had understood and that he had been less than pleased.

Yet it was not only his broken arm that restrained him, nor was it merely a sense of caution in response to his uncle's inevitable displeasure, or Finrod's, but a certain reticence that grew in him in response to the lady's own behavior. For from the first time that he had beheld her that night he knew that something was amiss, some darkness in her eyes that was not usually there seemed to plague her and when he had greeted her she had seemed distracted, brusquer than normal, offering none of the playful banter that typified their conversations. It was as if she wished nothing more to escape this crowd of people and return to her quarters to be in solitude, but propriety would not allow it. So she wandered the party, speaking to very few and then only momentarily, feigning joy, and others seemed to buy into her façade but to Celeborn, who had studied her mannerisms until he knew them as well as a painter knows every brush stroke of his masterpiece, it was immediately clear that something was gravely amiss. And he did not wish to impose a dance upon her while she was indisposed so he restrained himself.

At first he had assumed that she was unwell because she had had harsh words with Finrod, for already there were rumors circulating that the siblings would be separated with him traveling to Nargothrond and Artanis remaining behind in Menegroth. But it soon became clear to him that this was not the reason, for her momentary lapses in composure betrayed that her predicament was more serious indeed than a simple sibling's quarrel. In those moments in which she thought that no one was looking she would lean heavily upon a table, her knuckles white and her eyes clenched shut as though a white hot poker had been driven through her heart. At other times he saw her clutch at her head as if she wished that she could break it open and rip bits and pieces of her brain away.

And then, finally, after sinking against the wall with a profound weariness, he had seen her dart away from the party, staggering like a deer shot through with arrows, to escape down an abandoned corridor. He had followed her without thought, careful to hide his exit, consumed by worry. And Melian's words reverberated in his mind: _she hides a dark secret. _He found her at last and she had hidden herself well, but not well enough that he could not find her here in the stone forest of his own palace. She was sitting on the ground in a small grotto of stone beeches, quite out of the way, and she seemed not to notice his approach at all, for her eyes were wide with terror and her breath came in short gasps.

_ Finrod, her brother, chained in a dungeon deep and dark, his fea crying out for her with the hopelessness of one who never hoped to see the light of the stars again. And his voice had grown weak, his throat parched and he had no more power left within him to give birth to song. And then the darkness came, knowing him to be defeated, and he struggled to his feet one last time, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. _

_ If Artanis could have moved then she would have but she was frozen, twice condemned to watch in stunned and horrified silence as the werewolf, a great beast twice her brother's size with claws like knives and fangs thick as her fist, its body a mass of powerful sinewy muscle, descended upon him. They would repay their debt in kind, even as Mandos has said._

Suddenly she became aware of someone kneeling before her, a pair of green eyes looking into her own, a firm hand clasping her shoulder tightly. "Breathe," a soothing voice said and at first she felt as though her lungs were made of iron, stiff and immobile, but gradually, as she watched the calm eyes, she began to draw breath, matching her breathing to the slow, controlled breathing of the one who now sat opposite her. The vision slowly faded and, in time, the world began to swim back into focus, blurry at first, but growing clearer. She swallowed, the terror had faded but she was still shaking as though she stood naked in the midst of the helcaraxe.

"All is well, just breathe, breathe with me. Look into my eyes," Celeborn reassured her and, for some reason, she seemed to trust his voice, though he could see in the depths of her eyes that she struggled to obey. Something dark had caught hold of her and would not yet release her. But he held her gaze firmly, commanding her to look at him, holding her here in the present where the visions could not overcome her.

"Galadriel, come back to me," he commanded, firmly but not ungently and, dutifully, she began to breathe. Celeborn held her hand firmly for many long minutes until, eventually, the trembling stopped and her head seemed to clear entirely, like the sun after a spring rain shower.

"Your highness…" She whispered, horrified now to realize whom those eyes belonged to. Celeborn was seated opposite her, cross-legged, holding her hand with one hand, his other hanging limply in its sling and he let his hand drop. "I am so sorry to have troubled you," she said, her face was as red as a poppy. "I cannot imagine what you must think of me to come across me in such a state. Truly, I am little better than a child."

"Visions," Celeborn said simply with a small smile, for he was not the least bit disturbed or surprised. It wasn't what she had expected, a far cry from the shrieks of fear and looks of distrust that she was usually treated to whenever it happened.

"How did you know?" She asked, nodding her head.

"Melian has visions," he said, "but surely you know that." Artanis nodded again.

"What I mean is, how did you know what to do?"

"That is what Thingol does for Melian," he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Although, it is quite rare that it is necessary. She has very good control over hers."

"And I do not," she said, casting her eyes downwards.

"Forgive me, I did not mean…" he stammered.

"The truth of the matter is, I have never been able to control them," she confessed, the words pouring out now that she had found someone who cared to listen. "When it first happened when I was a child I scared everyone so badly. My parents thought that there was something horribly wrong with me and they made me lie abed for weeks at a time whenever it would happen. I know that they had the best of intentions, that they were merely worried about me, afraid I would fall and hurt myself or something while I was…elsewhere. And I, I was so frightened, little understanding what was happening to me or why I could not be like other children."

"No one understands, they don't understand why I cannot control them because of course lots of elves have visions and Finrod has them too but mine are not normal, they're not like Finrod's, they're not like everyone else's."

"How are they?" Celeborn asked.

"Like a bad dream," she said, "one of those truly horrid ones where it seems that it is really happening to you, where you want to scream but cannot open your mouth, or you want to move but your limbs remain frozen, or you want to wake but are powerless to do so. That is how they are."

"Hmmm," Celeborn was holding her hand again now, rubbing her fingers. "Yours are just stronger," he said, "Melian's are strong too. It means you are powerful and there is nothing wrong with that. It is a gift for that is one of the many ways in which she protects Doriath."

"It is only a gift if it can be controlled," Artanis said, wiping the gathering moisture from her eyes, determined not to cry and thereby add to her embarrassment. "And, I cannot control them. I don't know how to discern which ones will come to pass and which ones won't, or what parts are true and which are false or anything like that. And, acting on visions you cannot control and do not understand is dangerous. It would be better if I do not go with Finrod to Nargothrond. None of his people trust me. They are all frightened of me. They know my visions are dangerous. They know I can't control them," she confessed as Celeborn listened silently, a benign smile upon his face.

"I'm sorry," she said, laughing suddenly, interrupting herself, "my Sindarin is so poor and poorer still when I am upset. Here I've just burdened you with all of my thoughts and done so clumsily at that."

"No!" He shook his silver head. "I understood your Sindarin perfectly. And you needn't worry; it is no burden. That is a prince's duty, to know all those in his realm well and to help them put their talents to the best of uses."

"Is that what I am to you," She said with a laugh, "your subject?"

"You are also my friend," he said, "or so I would hope." _And more, _he thought_, I want so much more from you than friendship Galadriel._

She smiled. "You are too kind, friend, especially after I have done you the injustice of breaking your arm," she said, wiping at her eyes again but Celeborn simply rubbed her hand.

"Perfection is too impossible a thing to ask of yourself," he said, as if he had read her mind. "We all have our imperfections. I am sure that you will be able to control your visions with time," he assured her, "especially with Melian's guidance. She understands the true power of premonitions." He smiled at her. "Your mother is right, you are too hasty."

"Is that so?" Artanis laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling in joy. "Oh yes, I can almost hear her say so. "She would like you, Celeborn," she patted his hand, "she would like you very much."

He laughed. "I am glad to hear you say that Galadriel." She shot him a quick gaze, but there was no anger in her eyes as there had been the last time he had used it, merely playful annoyance.

"Are you trying to bait me?" She asked him.

"Perhaps," he grinned.

"That name – it is like sugar over top of syrup, far too much of a good thing," she laughed.

"We Sindar have none of your Noldorin restraint," Celeborn said, standing and offering her his hand. "Have you not already learned that we eat until we can eat no more, drink until we are drunker than dwarves, and dance until our legs can no longer hold us."

"Do you mean to say that you will call me whatever you like regardless of whether or not I approve?" She asked him, laughing as she took his hand and pulled herself up.

"More or less," he smiled and she shook her head, laughing, her sadness quite forgotten.

"Will you return to the party? If you do not wish to then I will make your excuses for you if you like." He said.

"Thank you," she told him, her eyes meeting his as he offered her his arm. "Truth be told, I find that I would much rather walk in the pavilion under the stars with only you for company yet propriety dictates that I must return." She smiled and having so said, she took his arm. "Will you return as well so that I might take the starlight with me?"

"If that is what you wish," he replied.

"You know, perhaps it isn't politic of me to say it but, when we came here there were so many of the Noldor who said such terrible things about the Sindar but I think that you are the best people I have ever met." She admitted and Celeborn laughed, but in his heart he was still struggling to recover from the light touch of her hand on his arm.

"There are a few of your relatives who have somewhat of a superiority complex aren't there," he said with a grin as they threaded their way back through the corridors, growing ever closer to the hubbub of the festivities.

"A few?" She said, raising an eyebrow. "I tried to run away to the opposite end of the earth and I _still_ couldn't escape them." They both laughed at that. "And how is your poor arm?" She asked him.

"Healing," he said, "albeit rather slowly. I fell from quite a height."

"If there is any way that I can repay you for the trouble that I have caused please do not hesitate to ask," she said and Celeborn could think of a thousand ways in which he would like her to atone but he named only one.

"A dance perhaps," he told her, "though crippled I may be it is still something that I enjoy and I should be most loath indeed to go an entire evening without it."

"That," she said, taking his hand, "is something I can manage." And Melian smiled as she watched them move amongst the other dancers, for things were to her as they ought to be, but Thingol looked on with discontent and the shadow of dark words was growing in his heart.

"My apologies Celeborn," Finrod said with a sigh as he bound up a bunch of arrows, "for you were speaking but I have not been listening as a friend ought. Forgive me for being so remiss." His words brought his friend out of his reverie.

"Don't worry yourself," Celeborn told his friend. "I only meant to say that Artanis seems to be learning a great deal from Melian and I can understand why she would be loath to give up her tutelage."

"That may be so, but I shall miss her greatly," Finrod sighed, "though I suppose that is a selfish thing for me to say. Yes, you are right of course, she can profit greatly from staying in Menegroth, already I have seen such positive growth in her. You must promise me that you shall look after her closely while I am gone and see that she is happy for there is none that I trust more than you, my friend."

"Of course, think nothing of it. It is no trouble at all," Celeborn assured him. "Besides, it will not be as bad as you are thinking, I am sure of it. I am certain that she will visit you and that you will return to Menegroth on occasion. Nargothrond is not so very far. Moreover, I am sure that you will be completely absorbed in building your city and you will have hardly a spare moment to contemplate your sister or your friends," Celeborn said with a wry grin.

"Scarcely a moment to contemplate either of you," Finrod goaded the Sinda.

"For shame," Celeborn replied, "then I shall have to find some productive way to fill your sister's hours, lest she waste away from grief." And his friend looked up at him with a face halfway between disbelief and horror.

"Surely I have only just now mistaken your meaning," he said.

"I was only jesting, as were you!" Celeborn said with a hearty laugh, earning himself an elbow from Finrod.

Author's note: Hey guys, I know if you actually read this far through the chapter you are probably really wanting to read the next one since I set so much stuff up to happen here! And, yes, the next chapter is very exciting! But…I have a lot of really important meetings for my thesis this coming week so I might be too busy to edit the next chapter this week, especially as I think it is going to need some heavy editing. The next chapter is really important so I want to make sure it is the best work I can offer you. I will try to have it up within the next two weeks!


	7. Chapter 7: Fledgling

Fledgling

Doriath: 7th Chapter

"When he shall die,  
>Take him and cut him out in little stars,<br>And he will make the face of heaven so fine  
>That all the world will be in love with night<br>And pay no worship to the garish sun."

– William Shakespeare

Author's note: Just a warning that I will definitely be upping the rating of this story to M in the near future. I know I have already been walking the line between PG-13 and M but I think it's still about as violent what you would see on a primetime cop drama on public TV, which is why I have kept it as PG-13. However, I am introducing the Feanorians soon and they cross a lot of lines. If this bothers anyone please let me know.

Also, on an unrelated note, if anyone ever has any questions about anything just let me know and I'll answer in the next author's note. Many thanks to Oleanne, Nuredhel, Annafan, I.H.N, and EverleighBain for your lovely and helpful reviews and criticism!

Already the night was nearly halfway through when Celeborn heard the rapping upon his door and the following murmur of voices as his servant greeted whomever it was who had come to call. His ears perked with interest for things in Menegroth had been dull without Finrod about and with Beleg and Mablung being constantly on the borders nowadays and they were made duller still by his broken arm, which prevented him from doing most productive things that he enjoyed and left him to overindulge in his vices.

And, speaking of vices…as he looked up he saw that his servant had ushered the Lady Artanis into his chambers and he sat up a bit straighter, for he had been slouching upon the chaise on which he was seated and he did not want to appear hunched before her, of all people. He fumbled to put away the ledgers that he had barely been paying attention to, the monotonous recordings of the complaints that had been brought to him that evening in court.

"The Lady Artanis if you please your highness," the servant said and Celeborn nodded, dismissing his man, his heart eager.

However, in his haste to put away the ledgers he only managed to drop them completely and she had the good grace, backed by a sensible upbringing, to feign as though she had not seen. It was somewhat unsettling that she was here now in his quarters, not that he was upset by it, no, not at all, quite the opposite in fact; it was only that it was rather like finding a pearl on the beach, pleasant yet unexpected, and he found himself feeling unprepared, wondering what he should do with such unlooked for bounty.

It was, if anything, almost so good a thing that he could not quite bring himself to believe it. For he had, for a long while now, waited and hoped for some movement from her and now, at last, here she was. He found himself wishing that he had kept his rooms more tidy, for they were among the most splendid in Menegroth and he would have wished for her to see them in that magnificence. Thus it was with some slight disappointment that he looked about to see idle stacks of parchment, books piled here and there, plants growing rampant all over everything, opened bottles of ink dotting the rooms, a knife embedded in the surface of a writing desk, and a half mounted deer's head left abandoned in a corner. And yet, even if his chambers had been at the height of their glory, they still would not have compared to the majesty of _her__._

A village girl with the air of a queen she seemed, for there was nothing regal about her garments, indeed they were very plain: a simple summery, green, cotton gown over which was still pinned a white apron. Her hair was sloppily tied up in a white kerchief and her face was a bit pink, as if from the heat of a fire, trace amounts of flour powdering her nose. She looked positively lovely, even in disarray, or perhaps even more so because of it, and she was all the more beautiful for the fact that in her hands she bore a silver tray of what appeared to be his favorite cakes, small morsels of golden pastry filled with rich custard and topped with nutmeg. He could not help but smile and she smiled in return as he hurried to pick the ledgers up and push them onto a table.

"Galadriel," he said by way of greeting.

"Your highness," she dipped into a small curtsey, her face alight with mock decorum and a hint of what he perceived to be nervousness. Nevertheless, she still managed to roll her eyes at the use of _that _name. "I thought it might behoove me to make some sort of further recompense for the discomfort and trouble I have doubtlessly caused you." He doubted not that there was truth to her words and, yet, he suspected some motive other than the one that she had suggested, for his arm had been broken for a while, and she had not sought to make recompense before now. In time, he thought, he would draw it out of her.

"Just Celeborn, please," he said in response to her feigned decorum. "And that was certainly kind of you, though unnecessary I assure you. However, as you have already made them, and as they appear to be my favorite, I certainly cannot refuse." He smiled at her and gestured with his good hand to the table with the ledgers beside the lounge upon which he sat. "If you will share them with me then I shall consider us even and will refrain from having you prosecuted for crippling the future of Doriath."

"Future of Doriath," Artanis snorted and rolled her eyes with a laugh, her polite façade falling away, but she set the tray down on the table nevertheless. "Am I to suppose by that that you mean yourself? How very bleak."

"You wound me lady," he said with a laugh, yet it was not true, for her playful banter, as ever, only served to cause his heart to swell with joy. "If you would like, there is some wine and there are several glasses in that cupboard over there," he said, indicating it to her. "My apologies. I would be a better host but someone has broken my arm." Artanis narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head as she went to fetch the wine and glasses.

"I would have thought that you would have healed by now," she said. "It has been almost two months has it not?"

Celeborn chuckled. "Indeed. It seems that I am a rather troublesome patient. If I could only obey the healer's orders properly then I would certainly have healed by now."

"Well then, let us lay the blame squarely where it belongs. That is your fault rather than mine," said Artanis.

It appeared that despite the recent intimacy that had grown between them, the barbed humor would continue and she was glad for it, for Celeborn proved an intriguing sparring partner both with weapons and with words. Like an onion, the more layers of him she peeled away the more complex he seemed to grow until she found herself somewhat overwhelmed by his potency. She returned momentarily, setting the glasses upon the table and filling them with strong spirits. He raised an eyebrow.

"Whiskey." He said plainly and she stopped pouring.

"If you prefer wine – "

"No," he shook his head and laughed. "Whiskey will do nicely. It is only that…well, I wonder if it would offend your Noldorin sensibilities to be drinking such strong liquor alone in a male's chambers." Before, perhaps due to his surprise and delight, he had not thought of it but now it dawned on him that this might not be considered an appropriate situation amongst her people, though to the Sindar it was certainly not unusual, and his less than comfortable conversations with Finrod regarding Artanis came to mind.

"My Noldorin sensibilities," she repeated, shaking her head with a grin. "Do I strike you as a woman who cannot handle herself?" she said with a laugh, giving him a look as though he were half mad while she topped off the glasses.

"On the contrary. That was not what concerned me," he replied.

"Then I assure you that I can handle my brother," she told him, putting the cork back in the bottle. How easily she had discerned his mind. She saw Celeborn relax and laugh at her words. "So I have hit the mark," she said and he watched like a man entranced as she raised the glass of golden liquor to her lips and drank fully, as a soldier might, but certainly not a lady. He thought her glorious.

"Is there anything else you desire of me my lord, now that I have brought you refreshment and poured your liquor?" Artanis said in mockery.

"Many more things," he said with a grin, "and I will leave you to conjecture what they are." He was pleased to see that she appeared just a little bit shocked, her pretty lips hanging slack for a moment.

"I have given you those," she said, pointing at the cakes and raising one golden brow. "And I can take them away just as easily. You know I will make good on my word."

"I thought you came of your own accord?" He said. He did so love teasing her. "In that case you are free to leave at any time if my conduct seems unfit to you. However, I shall act as I please within my own chambers."

"I suppose I should not be surprised, seeing as you are well known for your impudence." She seated herself regally after handing him his glass, a sour look upon her face, but he knew it for the farce that it was, for a simple glance at her eyes told him that her mind was working quickly to think of a way to turn his joke back upon him.

"Will you act the prude now Artanis?" He murmured with a grin. "Perhaps I do not have your foresight, but I do not need it to discern your thoughts, or to understand what it is that you want from me." It was bold of him perhaps, and his heart seemed to catch in his throat even as he said it, for he had his suspicions but they were yet unconfirmed and he was pleased to see the faintest blush bloom upon her cheeks. There was nothing that delighted him quite as being the cause of her consternation.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted in a smirk. "Is that so?" Was all she said, for she knew not whether he was bluffing or whether he had truly discerned her thoughts, though her heart was certainly racing as if he had. 'The Sindar are less wise and more dangerous,' Finrod had said. And she could understand what he meant by it when she was with Celeborn for he could turn from a well-mannered prince to a veritable rouge in the matter of an instant and, at times, she almost felt as though he were some great cat about to devour her. Yet she was not afraid, no, in the recesses of her mind she was aware that she sought him out, goaded him into it.

"It must be your imagination," she said with a grin as he popped another of the cakes into his mouth, watching her with intensity. "But tell me how are the cakes?" She took a long drink from her whiskey as he ate another. "I trust they are to your satisfaction?" And she was pleased to see him nearly choke at her overly innocent tone as he surveyed her now with suspicion. She could play at his game.

"Why?" Celeborn asked. "Have you done something to them?" For he had belatedly realized that she had not yet partaken herself.

"Nothing." Artanis grinned, popping one into her mouth and Celeborn breathed a sigh of relief, "although, I rather wish I had, just to perturb you." He laughed.

"They are excellent," Celeborn told her, "as good as Melian's, truly. You have my thanks." They truly were, and made all the better by the fact that Artanis had made them, and made them especially for him.

"I am glad to hear it," she replied. "It is her own recipe and she instructed me in how to make them after I told her I wanted to make things good between us."

Celeborn took a drink as Artanis stood to remove her apron. He watched over the rim of his glass as she untied it from her slender waist and unpinned the top from her bodice, folding it to set it on the seat beside her. Reaching up, she untied her kerchief and her hair tumbled free in waves of gold, lit by the light of the fire that also cast delicate shadows in the hollow of her neck, along the line of her graceful shoulder. She had flour on her nose but he said nothing of it, for it added a certain charm to her appearance.

"Why did you come here?" He asked her.

"You must be more specific when you are asking me those sorts of questions Celeborn," she said, if only to stave off the inevitable. Before he had made her feel deliciously uncomfortable, now she felt actually uncomfortable, but, after all, she had initiated this precisely because she had wanted to explain, as much as she dreaded it. But perhaps things had not changed after all, for he still seemed to enjoy her company, despite what he had seen. But no, she twisted her hands in her dress, she could not fathom how he could possibly bring himself to care, _truly care, _for one so ruined as her.

"You know what I mean," he said in reply, a bit perturbed, in truth, with her constantly putting him off with such pointless phrases as though he were a child who would not inquire further. And why could she not give him a straight answer? Had they not said that they were friends? Were they not both certain that it was something more than friendship that they felt for one another?

"I do not want you to think me weak," she said, her voice falling and she felt a strange trembling in her chest for the last time they had spoken had been the first time that they had shared conversation of any intimacy and that had been accidental but this time, this time she had sought to establish it again, if only to explain her strange behavior when last they had met, but now she worried that perhaps she had intruded where she ought not to have done so.

"Tell me, and be straight with me this time," he said, impatient now that she had shown some strange reticence, "what are you so frightened of?" He was a prince, a prince of Doriath and he was not accustomed to having matters of importance withheld from his knowledge.

_Of you,_ she thought, _that you will consume me as fire consumes wood until nothing but charcoal remains, and of myself, that I wish to be consumed, that if I embrace you as I wish I will be destroyed. _

"The woman you saw last, that is not who I am, it is not who I wish to be," she replied, and she doubted not that, like him, her agitation was present in her tone of voice.

"It is who you are," Celeborn replied leaning forward, serious now but still impatient. He had given her no cause to distrust him yet she distrusted him nevertheless. It was the first time that he found himself angry with her, though he knew that anger was but the child of frustration. Why could she not see the woman that he had seen, brilliant and blinding as the rising sun, _Galadriel_?

"If you saw me as I truly was then you would have no regard for me at all," she said in a rush of tense words, her breast heaving now with anger. He did not understand, how could he? He knew nothing of the darkening of Valinor, of the Kinslaying, or the Helcaraxe, of all she had endured. And, if he knew aught of it then he would turn her out into this pitiless world alone, a world where she could not find _him__, _and there was no cage more narrow than exile; that she knew all too well. This had all been folly, all of it; she saw it clearly now and wished nothing more than to be far, far away from him, far from that lingering gaze of his that so easily surmounted the citadel of her heart, her mind.

"Will you not let me decide that for myself?" He cried. But she rose, though whether the greater part of her motivation for doing so was fear or anger she could not tell and, turning, she began to make for the door. She only knew that she felt numb and that something about him frightened her more than she had ever been frightened, for when she was near him she could not help but feel as though every secret that she sought to keep hidden would tumble from her mouth and, unrestrained, that she would tell him the whole, sordid, unadulterated tale.

"Artanis!" He called, his voice loud, angry, the tone of a man who felt his hopes slipping through his fingers like water. She turned, her hand upon the door but he rushed forward taking her hand in his, holding it tight. The anger was gone from his eyes now and had been replaced with a certain fervent urgency, as of a man seeking to save the last vestiges of that which he held most dear.

"Whatever you are running from," he said, "it will catch you in the end. Wherever you go, your past will follow you. You cannot escape it or pretend that it belongs to some other self, for you cannot divide your fea thusly; there is only you. Perhaps you will not tell me why you left Aman, though I have inquired, but even though that is so, I can still surmise that given time enough you will grow to loath this land just as much as Aman, if not more so. For the problem is not the place, but rather, something that you carry with you, inside of you. How can you control your visions and find this freedom you seek if you run from your demons forever? Will you not turn and face them, even if I stand by your side, could we not prevail?"

"And who are you to lecture me as though I am a petulant child?" She cried, tearing her hand from his grasp.

"Your friend, or so I thought," he said, his tone terse, his face tense. But Artanis made no reply for she only wished to flee to her own chambers where she might shed tears alone over that most fantastic of things that she had just thrown away, as though it were nothing more than a scrap of paper. But what other choice had she? They had made her swear to secrecy and he… there was no greater threat to that secrecy than whatever it was that she held in her heart for him.

Celeborn stood at the door in silence until long after the echoes of her fleeing footfalls could no longer be heard in the deserted corridor before he shut the door quietly and returned to his chambers, prodding the dying embers of the fire for a moment with the poker, remembering how their glow had lit her face. He tossed the poker down somewhat angrily and it clattered on the floor, shedding ashes upon the carpet where it had landed, but he cared not.

He sat down but sprang up again almost immediately for the argument had made him restless and he wanted to pace or, better yet, to go shoot something but the dawn had nearly arrived and they would all think him mad going out for target practice at this hour alone so he paced instead.

He had seen it before, that fierce flaring of stubborn pride and that strange shame - that time he had touched her hair, foolishly, boldly, like a little boy reaching for a toy. She had rebuked him with hollow words, reminding him of the penalty for his transgression had they been in Valior, yet once more her eyes and her words had not rhymed. For in her eyes had been a longing, as though she had only mentioned Valinor so that he might remind her, as he had, that they were not there and that here, at least, she was free to do as she desired.

But this time his words had been met with retaliation and, finally, with flight, like a deer running from the arrow that pursues it, yet she had never struck him as one to flee in the face of adversity and he wondered what it was that frightened her so, was it _him_? Had he done something horribly wrong? Perhaps he had intruded where he had not been wanted. Perhaps he had misread her polite and spirited demeanor for love where there was none.

He sat down heavily and the anger deflated from him like a bellows expelling air, a hollow ache seeping into the place where it had been. He had only wanted to show her that the freedom she sought was within her reach, that she was strong enough to surmount this problem and that he thought her courageous, that she need not fear happiness, yet she had recoiled as though he had forced a scalding hot kettle into her hands. But perhaps it had been too much – a seed planted in untilled earth and, as ever it seemed, he found himself regretting the words he had spoken and the intimacy that he had, perhaps, forced upon her.

"Faster!" Luthien sent up a laugh and a war whoop as she charged ahead. The princess sped out of sight but they could all hear the crunch of her horse's hooves over fallen leaves as she circled back around through the woods to join up with them. Emerging from the trees wearing a broad grin, she bent forward to pat her black mare on the neck. "Oh do come with me, one of you. This is the dullest hunt I have ever attended! Artanis, come on!"

"If you tire your horse out before we have even sighted any game then you will have a very dull time indeed," Celeborn shouted back at her. He was in extraordinarily good spirits now that his arm had healed but he kept his distance from Artanis, riding instead beside Thingol while Luthien led the party and Beleg Strongbow rode at the king's other hand. Behind the Doriathrin nobles rode Artanis and an assorted party of courtiers including Oropher and Venessiel, who had been riding side by side all morning, conversing in hushed tones.

There were also several of Thingol's favorite huntsmen, one of whom was in charge of the pack of exuberant hounds that followed them, and a few of Luthien's ladies. The followers were mostly along for fun rather than sport and, of the ladies, only Artanis and Luthien were dressed in hunting gear. Artanis spurred her palomino mare, a gift from Melian, passing by Celeborn's chestnut stallion. As she rode by to join Luthien, the great gray hunting owl that sat on his shoulder turned its orange eyes towards her quizzically even though the prince himself seemed reluctant to meet her glance. Artanis tightened her lips over he teeth as she passed, too embarrassed at their recent argument to even give him a proper greeting.

"Excellent!" Luthien exclaimed as Artanis joined her.

"We are moving so slowly because there are far too many people in our party," the Noldorin lady told her friend in a conspiratorial tone.

"I know! I told father not to invite everyone and his brother but, well, you know how he is: the more the merrier." Luthien groaned. "I only want to go fast. I'd fly if I could."

"Perhaps if you let the prince's great honking owl catch ahold of you then you could fly. It looks as though it could lift a ton." Said Artanis with a wry grin, glancing back at the owl. It seemed that Celeborn had been watching her for their eyes inadvertently met and then the both of them looked away quickly.

"Valar, I hate that thing." Luthien growled under her breath. "He uses it to keep all of the small game to himself before I can even get a shot off. It isn't fair." She scowled and just then the hounds began baying. Suddenly alert, Luthien took her bow to hand, her keen eyes scanning the brush ahead as the hounds charged by. Artanis gripped her spear, hearing those behind her ready themselves as well.

"A fox!" Luthien exclaimed, before charging ahead, drawing an arrow from her quiver and loosing it. Artanis followed, hearing her ever hasty friend curse as her shot missed. Yet, as Luthien leant down from her charging horse to snatch the arrow up from where it was embedded in the ground, the great gray owl soared over her head, diving violently into a mass of ferns. There was a brief scuffle and a yelp before the owl rose triumphant, a dead fox clasped tightly in its talons and, taking wing, returned to its master's shoulder.

Artanis reined her horse in and turned about to see Thingol, Celeborn, and Beleg laughing together. Ah well, the prince may have had first blood but she would have her blood yet. None of them had seen her hunt before and she hoped to surprise them with her skill. Luthien returned to her side looking as though steam would momentarily billow from her ears, her grey eyes flashing angrily.

"You're a thief Celeborn!" She called.

"You had your chance and you missed cousin!" He taunted her. Just then the hounds started baying again and charged off into an open meadow. There was a momentary flurry as everyone began to spur their horses and then their party burst forth into that same meadow, their horses breaking forth into a gallop. Artanis leaned low across her mare's neck, enjoying the feel of the wind in her face. Her spear almost seemed to tremble with excitement in her hand. Celeborn's owl flew high overhead as the hounds charged across the field and then the prey came into sight.

"A boar, a boar!" She heard Thingol shout as his bay mare drew abreast of her palomino. The horses strained at the reins, wanting to go faster, the first time they had been allowed to run today. The boar charged through a thicket, still far ahead, turning towards the west and Artanis turned to cut across the arc of its path, hoping to close the gap but Beleg and Celeborn had anticipated the boar's movement as well and she found herself running with them now. Both of them had their hunting bows at the ready and, as they began to slowly close the distance to the boar, they released their arrows. She heard them whistle through the air and, while Beleg's struck, Celeborn's embedded itself in the ground. She saw Beleg turn back and taunt the prince, though his words were lost in the racket of the baying of the hounds. Celeborn made some reply and laughed before leaning down from the saddle as they came upon his arrow, his head nearly touching the ground at a full gallop as he grabbed it.

Artanis urged her mare forwards. The leggy horse was a fast mount and she was able to outpace the stockier horses that Celeborn and Beleg rode. Just as Celeborn had predicted, Luthien had tired her horse out before the hunt and Artanis could hear her following at a distance, fuming no doubt. Thingol was approaching once more, his magnificent bay charger eating up the ground, and Artanis's mare reveled in the competition, increasing her pace. They were steadily closing the gap and her heart was pounding in anticipation; she could see the boar quite clearly now.

A stone fence rose up in front of them and their horses leapt over it but Artanis hardly noticed it for her eyes were focused on the boar, anticipating his path, considering the ways in which she could reduce that distance. One of Celeborn's white tipped arrows flew over her head, striking this time in the boar's shoulder. Thingol and Artanis's horses were gaining ground now and she was only just realizing how large a boar truly was, how long and sharp its tusks were, a far different beast than the deer she had hunted with her cousins in Aman. But she did not feel fear, rather, she anticipated being the one to fell the beast, to triumph. She lifted her brass-handled spear over her shoulder, relaxing her grip on it: _tense throws make for poor blows; h_er father's words echoed in her mind. The blade of her spear was long and sharp, as long as her forearm, and she would strike true with it. She was determined. She spurred her mare, willing her to overtake Thingol's charger, for the king was readying his bow and it had a longer range than her spear.

Somehow her mare found an extra burst of energy and surged forward. It was still a little too far but perhaps she could do it, perhaps. Yet, if she did not take this chance then Thingol would certainly fell the beast before she. Even now he was sighting his arrow; this was her last opportunity. Breathing out slowly, Artanis willed herself to be calm as she drew back her arm, rising tall in the saddle, her muscles supple and relaxed, and in one swift motion she let the great spear fly forth from her hand, her arm extending all the way forward after she had released, following the trajectory of the missile just as her father had taught her. The spear flew like a meteor, straight and true to strike home between the boar's shoulder blades, dropping it like a rock. The boar gave one last shriek and shiver, then it moved no more. Artanis reined her mare to a stop, patting her sweaty shoulder and offering words of thanks, and the horse pranced about, nearly as pleased with herself as her mistress was. Thingol drew up alongside her, breathing as hard as she.

"Artanis Finarfiniel!" He cried with a broad smile. "Very well done indeed!" He reached out, offering her his hand and she grasped it, smiling back. "You do the house of Finwe proud! There is no doubt!"

"I should certainly hope so," Artanis replied, smiling back at the king, "for it was under my father and grandfather's tutelage that I learned to hunt. Yet it is my first time to fell a boar – indeed, my first time hunting one." Thingol laughed.

"Then I am all the more impressed, though not very surprised I must say, given your gumption."

She dismounted as the other riders arrived and pulled her spear from the boar before wiping the blade on the grass.

"Superb, Lady Artanis." Said Beleg. "I congratulate you!"

"My thanks Sir. From you there could be no more flattering compliment. But, certainly I could never have done it without your aid, and that of the prince." She bowed to Celeborn. He said nothing but she noted the look of admiration in his eyes and hope fluttered in her chest that perhaps not all was lost.

They hunted the rest of the morning but, aside from a few rabbits, they had not caught anything else of much significance by the time that they returned to Menegroth as dusk was dawning. There they picnicked upon the rabbits and the fox while they began to roast the pig over an open fire and the ladies spent the early hours of the evening relaxing on the lawn before the gates of the city while the men tended to the horses and fussed over the proper roasting of the pig like mother hens. By the time that the sky was pitch black, the boar was roasted through, the crispy skin crackling and popping, a savory, mouthwatering aroma permeating the air as the fat dripped on the fire. They gathered to sit on logs around the fire as more people joined them from Menegroth, including Melian, who seated herself beside her husband. Luthien, already a little bit tipsy, passed around cups and cold pitchers of ale before seating herself beside Artanis.

"Drink up before it gets warm!" She cried and a great cheer and the clinking of glasses was heard. Some of the hunters approached the roasting pig and began to cut off meat, passing it around the circle on trenchers, and Artanis and Luthien feasted happily upon the hot and tasty boar meat until they could eat no more and their fingers were burnt and greasy. Artanis could not resist licking them; she had never tasted anything more delicious.

Just then, Dairon, who had joined them from Menegroth, Galathil, and Beleg arose, beginning to sing a loud and pun filled song about Artanis's slaying of the boar. The lady herself rose and curtsied deeply in mockery of their ridiculous tune, enjoying the hubbub of conversation and the pleasant, festive atmosphere.

"Drink! Drink!" Luthien urged as Artanis downed her fourth glass of ale. "To your victory most noble!" The princess refilled their glasses and they drained them once more before she rose and excused herself saying, "I must go speak to mother!" What was comical in this statement Artanis could not discern but Luthien seemed to find something humorous about what she had said, for she headed off on feet that were now less than steady, laughing all the way. Artanis felt a bit lightheaded and reckless herself and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire upon her face and the hot, lazy summer air against her skin.

"May I?" She heard the deep cool voice from behind her, that voice that haunted her dreams, and felt her pulse quicken. She knew immediately who it was before she opened her eyes and she tensed a bit, wondering what it was that he had come to say.

"Of course," She said, gesturing more wildly than she had intended to the empty seat next to her due to a combination of nerves and alcohol.

"I was not sure whether you would ever welcome my presence again," he said softly so that the others would not hear, and Artanis felt a pang of guilt and sadness shoot through her hot as lightening. For she had regretted their argument almost as soon as it had finished and yet her pride had been too great to return to him and ask forgiveness.

But, as she had lain in her bed that day, tossing and turning while sleep evaded her, it had come to her mind that perhaps he had not been accusing her of anything after all and that he had only meant to help her in his own way. But, more than that, she had worried that she may have carelessly discarded any opportunity she may have had with him and it was not until that worry was present in her mind that she realized that she _did _desire him after all. In light of that understanding, every other challenge seemed surmountable. For who were Finrod and Maedhros to tell her what she could and couldn't do or, even, what secrets she could choose to keep or divulge? And perhaps Celeborn was right, perhaps she had not given him due credit, it was his choice, not hers, whether or not he wished to court her, just as it was her choice, and not her family's, whether or not she would court him.

"My Lord," she said, feeling quite brave all of a sudden as she turned to meet his gaze, "I am sorry for the harsh words that passed between us the last time that we spoke. I grew frightened and in my fright I was less than courteous to you, I -"

"Nay!" He interrupted her, as though the words had lain in wait in his mind and now that the time had come to divulge them they spilled forth. "It is I who should apologize, for you came to me with a heavy heart and I only increased that burden. I sought to solve all of your problems for you and it did not occur to me until later that perhaps you were only seeking a compassionate ear."

"No, no! Think nothing of it!" She exclaimed. "Consider it all forgiven and forgotten! But, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"Of course!" He said. "it is already done."

There was a certain tension now between them for it seemed as though the final obstacle had been surmounted and the path cleared but now they were each afraid to tread it. "Might I offer you more ale?" Celeborn asked, breaking the long silence almost frantically, and Artanis nodded more vigorously than was usual.

"Yes, yes," she said, holding out her cup and she knew not whether it was because her hand was shaking or his was, but only half of the ale that he poured managed to make its way into her glass and the rest spilled on the ground. It did, however, seem to alleviate the tension between them and they laughed.

"I am not drunk! I swear it!" Celeborn exclaimed, as he filled his own cup and the two of them quaffed deeply.

"How very dull!" She exclaimed, laughing, and it seemed that at her joke the better part of his boldness returned.

"You said you spoke out of fear," he said, quirking a silver brow at her. "Tell me Lady, what was it that had you frightened? For I find it difficult to imagine that you could be frightened of anything."

"You, your Royal Highness," she said, laughing. _Perhaps I am a bit drunk,_ she thought to herself with a smile.

"Aha," Celeborn grinned with a quirk of his eyebrow, "I must admit, I have found that many a young lady is intimidated by a handsome lad. But fear not, Galadriel, I am not so very dangerous."

"You arrogant fool!" She laughed, prodding his side with her elbow. "It isn't that at all! It is that frightful look you give me on occassion! Sometimes I am not sure if, if you mean to kill me or …" She paused. _I am too drunk and now I have dug myself a pit to fall into, _she thought. But no, not a pit, an opportunity, if she were brave enough to say it. She took a deep breath "to kill me or to make love to me," her words nearly caught in her throat as his eyes slid over to meet hers, intrigued, and she swallowed hard. Well it was out now and she could not take it back. The light-hearted humor had evaporated from them, leaving behind on his face that same raw look and grin of which she had just spoken.

"I assure you," he said quietly, his voice husky, "It is not the former." They sat in baited silence, their gazes locked. It seemed that the world around them had gone completely still or else disappeared entirely and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest and took another drink of her ale, finishing the glass, for she needed that courage for what she wanted to say next.

"And the latter?" She asked boldly, for when she looked into his eyes, which even now bore a glint that struck her with some strange and thrilling sensation, and saw the hint of a grin that played about his lips, thicker than those of a Noldo, she felt as if he was demanding, requiring something of her, as if he wished her to rise to challenge him as if in battle, warrior to warrior. And suddenly it struck her all at once, not that she had romantic feelings for Celeborn, for she been aware of this for a while now, but instead by the reason that courtship had heretofore seemed irksome to her: it had made her feel intolerably weak. Yet, when Celeborn looked at her now she could feel the power growing within her like the swell of a river about to flood.

The silver-haired prince shifted in his seat, thinking, and presently he asked her, "would you speak of that?"

And perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was that strange courage that he seemed to ever draw forth from her, but she nodded confidently and said, "yes, I would."

"Then shall we quit this place?" he asked her.

Artanis felt her pulse quicken, for she knew not the marriage customs of the Sindar and she wondered if by that he meant to ask her if she would lie with him and so she said, "and where will we go?" But even if he told her that he wished to take her to his bed she wondered that she might agree. Indeed, she almost hoped for it. Long had they been carefully toeing the tightrope between friends and lovers. Yet her heart did not quake or tremble, but beat within her chest like a mighty drum and she felt its power even down to her fingertips, her entire body echoing with its rhythm, and wondered that she had grown so bold and fearless in the face of love.

And Celeborn laughed softly, the grin on his face indicating that he found himself pleased by her and this in turn pleased Artanis for he had not been put off by her boldness as many of the princes of the Noldor had, but welcomed it. "Only to the willows there," he said, pointing at a stand of trees not so very far away, but far enough as to be private. "For if we would speak of that then I wish to be alone with you, if you will allow it. Yet that is close enough that these here will not wonder if we have been lost."

"Then fill my cup," she said, "and I shall go with you." He did as she bid him, spilling not a drop, for this time he had the security of knowing his intentions. Then he rose, offering her his arm and side by side they walked the distance to the willow grove. The grass there was lush and verdant, the long, slender branches of the willow, shining as if they had been rubbed with silver, trailed in the gentle streams that ran there as the wind rustled gently in the leaves through which moonlight softly filtered. It was a beautiful place and peaceful, though touched by a primordial quality that made it both strange and majestic.

"Are you not afraid to walk alone in the forest at night with a dark elf by your side?" He asked her, eyes playful, as they made their way through the ferns and beneath the canopy of willow branches.

"Should I have cause to be Celeborn?" She teased him in return, unafraid to call him by his name now that there were no others around to bear witness. "Perhaps it is you who ought to fear me. After all, am I not a Noldo, one of the 'sorcerous elves' as your people say?"

"There are those among your people who would say that you have followed me now only because I have bewitched you with my dark enchantments," he said and she felt as though his eyes might burn clear through her.

"And have you?" She asked, a grin playing about her lips.

"I do not well understand what your people mean when they use the words 'bewitch' or 'enchant' but if by it they intend to say that I can show you things to inspire the heart then yes, that I can do. Is that what you desire?" And Artanis could feel her heart pounding in anticipation.

"Yes," she said, the word dropping from her lips, seemingly without thought, or else born of a question so long contemplated that the answer was already known to her. And, nearly as soon as the word had traversed the path of her lips did the world seem to swell around her, the stars drawing so close that it looked as though she might be able to pluck them from the sky and in the air the whispers of a thousand birds and beasts and rivers and trees, beneath her feet the earth moved as though it too had a heart, primeval, pulsating, pumping life throughout all of Arda. And this pulsing energy forced trees up through the ground, and splintered rocks as though they were fragile as glass, and compelled water to flow forth into rivers and streams as though a wellspring of life lay at the very center of the earth and was forcing its way out in an inexorable deluge.

Artanis found her heart racing, her breath coming in deep gasps as her lips parted, gingerly, tentatively, ever so slightly in silent ecstasy, eyes shining with a luster as though shot through with stars, body trembling in fragile bliss until at last the power ebbed like the tide at dawn, leaving her floating in its wake. She seemed to come to then, though whether she dreamed to wake or woke to a dream she could not tell for she felt as though in that very moment he had shown her all of Arda itself at its birth, and all of this he had done without her skin having known the touch of his hand.

He grinned, watching her with those eyes of his, eyes filled with a darkness that, as ever, intrigued her, that drew her to him like a moth to a flame, enticing her even as unto her own sweet destruction. A strange sort of enchantment it had been, wild and unrestrained: as he was. And now that she had but tasted of it once, she wanted nothing more than to taste of it again and again until she had supped full, for she found herself consumed by an insatiable hunger and she knew not which would devour her first: his desire or her own. He drew close to her then, so close that she thought he might kiss her, and, trembling in anticipation, feeling as if she were compelled to ask the question, as if she could no longer resist, said: "What is it that you desire of me, Celeborn?"

He reached out and, without asking, took the glass she held, drinking of the heady wine therein before pressing the cup to her lips where the rim of it was still warm from his mouth, and as she drank he gave reply, saying only: "Everything, Galadriel." The words hung in the silence between them.

Then did she reach out, finishing an action begun long ago but left incomplete, and threaded between her fingers a lock of his hair, pure silver, brilliant as moonlight, and it glimmered in her hand as though she had caught a handful of stars betwixt her fingers. She felt her breath catch in her throat, for well was it said amongst the eldar that to touch the hair of another was among the most intimate of acts. Her eyes flickered up to meet his and she saw that he stood, breathless in awe of her, his eyes filled with great desire and affection, just as she had wished for since that night that she had danced before the court, and she did not doubt that her eyes were filled with much of the same, for she was in awe of him as well, her beautiful and wise Sindarin lover.

And, what was more, though she searched her heart, she found that there was no fear there at all any longer. For with Celeborn 'everything' did not mean a cage, or a prison, chains and clipped wings, and to be closeted away or exiled to loneliness as Nerdanel had been, as her own mother. No, when Celeborn said 'everything' he meant freedom, a life without fear, a life lived without shame, filled with love and happiness and great joy, for he himself had told her that actions speak more truth than words, and it was his actions that spoke the truth of him to her heart. No longer was she afraid to say what she felt, what he could undoubtedly read in her eyes.

"If it is 'everything' that you wish, Celeborn, then take it," she whispered, "for it is yours." Then did the cup tumble from her hands as into his he drew her, flesh upon flesh, heat upon heat, sweat upon sweat, the taste of bitter wine mingling as he kissed her as though he wished to make her forget the taste of air and in that kiss thereby seal them one to the other.


	8. Chapter 8: Strangers in a Strange Land

**Strangers in a Strange Land**

Doriath: 8th Chapter 

* * *

><p>"One can't live with one's finger everlastingly on one's pulse."<br>― Joseph Conrad, _Heart of Darkness_." 

* * *

><p>Author's note: I'm really excited for the next few chapters! We are going to take a much closer look at Finrod and events really get set into motion very shortly. As always, questions, comments, and critiques are very much welcome!<p>

* * *

><p>It was in the nights that Doriath came alive. Lamps of all colors were lit in the great hall, reflecting their prismatic light about the midnight forest, and nocturnal flowers bloomed in all of their evening glory. The deer with their spotted fawns lay down to rest beneath the trees while the nightingales awoke above them, their melodic songs ringing throughout the endless caverns like a chorus of bells. Beneath the trees the population of Menegroth, both elven and animal wandered about, feasting, meeting with friends, seeking out merchants. The sky-like ceiling above twinkled with the brightness of stars and even one who had never entered the halls of the hidden kingdom would feel at home here amidst the soft light and gentle hubbub of conversation.<p>

Thingol sat on a balcony crafted about the trunk of one of the great stone trees in the hall surveying his palace from atop velvet cushions. His ears perked at the sound of a fiddle, the musician running the bow across the strings at random, warming up. The cacophony of notes caused Melian's words to run through his mind once again, threatening to rob him of his momentary happiness: 'She carries a dark secret.' It was easy to spot that golden head as he looked down, wayward grandchild of his friend that one was. He saw her call out and an equally discernable silver head approached, speaking to her briefly before moving away again. Consternation creased Thingol's brow and, momentarily, he heard footsteps coming up the silver staircase and turned to see Celeborn. His ire of a moment earlier that he had planned to direct at the young elf was quickly forgotten when he saw that he was carrying two goblets and a tall frosty pitcher of freshly brewed ale.

"Uncle, I thought I might find you here." Celeborn smiled, toasting him with the empty goblets before sitting beside him. "May I join you?"

"Seeing as you have already done so I cannot refuse you now can I?" Thingol replied with a smile.

"You could," Celeborn said cheekily, "only it would be quite rude of you and I should be very put out."

"Semantics," Thingol grumbled. "Your aunt will be wroth with you for feeding my habits." He took one of the goblets nevertheless and held it out as Celeborn poured. "I have grown fat since the Battle of Beleriand." The ale was cold, perfectly so, and the foam bubbled against his lips as he drank it down.

"What Auntie does not know cannot hurt her now can it?" Celeborn grinned with mischief.

"Consider briefly, the flaw in the statement 'what Melian does not know' Celeborn." Thingol rolled his eyes. "And to think that you are my chief counselor."

"You know, she has a point. You really were a great deal thinner at the Battle of Beleriand," Celeborn shot back. Thingol jokingly gave him a glare that could have killed a warg and his nephew laughed. "You ought to be more grateful to me, uncle, for having delivered this ale safely to you. It was very nearly stolen as I was on my way here."

"So I saw," Thingol replied. "What do you think of her Celeborn?" His eyes returned once more to the revelers as he slowly sipped from his glass of ale.

"Of Artanis?" Celeborn asked with a wry grin, and he struggled to suppress the joy that threatened to blatantly parade across his face, for the Noldorin lady had now for several months been a near permanent occupant of his chambers and many a night had they shared the same bed. Yet, though they had been careful to be as discreet as they could, and though none knew better how to avoid Thingol's keen eye than Celeborn, he worried that his uncle might have found out and now meant to express disapproval. For, though such arrangements were not uncommon amongst Sindarin couples, and though by law Celeborn knew that he needed the King's approval only for a marriage, Artanis was a princess, a Noldorin princess at that, and thus their courtship would likely face closer scrutiny than most. Besides, though Thingol considered the children of Finarfin to be his friends, it was no great secret that he was still irked by their refusal to speak plainly of whatever shadow lay upon them.

"Of course," Thingol replied, "I am not so blind as you think, nephew. I have seen the way that you look at her and I saw you, several months ago after the hunt, go off in the forest together and you did not rejoin the festivities." the king said pointedly, his brow furrowing. "Indeed, it was not until the following evening that I saw either of you. I know the thoughts that go through the minds of young men, Celeborn." The king pointed a stern finger at his nephew. "Do not forget that I too was once alone in the forest with an extraordinarily pretty girl."

Celeborn considered how best to answer, for he could not quite discern whether Thingol was angry with him or not, and so he remained silent for a while. "You have no opinion then?" Thingol pushed, laughing, and raising his eyebrows. "Or is it merely an opinion that you do not wish to speak? Come, Celeborn, I have never known you to hold your tongue." Celeborn raised his eyebrows and took a long drink of his ale. His uncle was right, he had never been one to hold his tongue and he would not now. There was no good in keeping secrets and, moreover there was no shame in what they had done.

"I have taken her as my lover," Celeborn said, and despite his slight concern over what the king would say, he could not suppress a grin at the sound of Thingol choking on his ale.

"Well," the King said after an extraordinarily pregnant pause. "You have been honest with me so I cannot fault you for that. Though I suppose I should not be surprised at all given your character, indeed, I rather find myself somewhat impressed that you have managed to snare a lady so famous for spurning her suitors."

"It was you who first suggested the match, if I recall correctly," Celeborn said. "'A rare beauty with a keen mind' were your exact words I believe."

"And you scoffed at the notion as I recall," Thingol said, raising an eyebrow and sipping from his cup.

"You are not upset?" Celeborn asked, curious, for the king had responded with a great deal more levity than he had expected. Indeed, he had rather expected that Thingol would become inflamed with anger.

"You have been honest with me and so I will be honest with you. I am not pleased, though I cannot say that I am displeased either. Long did I notice that you took a particular interest in Lady Artanis and yet I said little of it to you save for a few warnings, for I thought that it was your business and not mine. Yet I was worried, and I worry still for as we have discussed before, there is some darkness that hangs over the Noldor, even over the children of Finarfin."

"That I am aware of," Celeborn replied, perhaps a bit more hastily than he had meant to, and Thingol had noticed.

"I see that it worries you as well," the king said quietly, taking a sip from his cup.

"You are the one who agreed to an alliance with Finrod. Does my relationship with her not further that alliance?" And still Celeborn's quick mouth betrayed his own insecurities, for Thingol knew his nephew well and Celeborn would not have stooped so low as to seek to curry political favor if the same concerns were not already eating away at him.

"Does it never occur to you, Celeborn," Thingol retorted, angered now, "that my concern may not be that of a King for a prince, but that of a father for his son? Do you think that I do not know that you love this girl? Perhaps you have not spoken those words to her yet but they are plainly writ across your face. And what of her? Do you think that this is some light dalliance for Artanis? Even I, who do not speak with her often, can assure you that it is not. If I object to your union it is only because I would hate to see both of your hearts crushed by forces outside of your control. These are difficult times and I do not know yet what decisions will be required of me, or of you, or of her for that matter."

"I am sorry Uncle," Celeborn said, duly chastised. "My emotions were raised and I merely sought to defend myself, little thinking of your own motivations."

"That is just the problem, Celeborn: you did not think," Thingol scolded him.

"Uncle…" the prince began, considering how best to couch what he wanted to say. "I hope that you do not think that I have no concerns myself. I do not like this business the Feanorians have of coming in and claiming this land, of ignoring your counsel and your decrees. Even Finrod, who means well, who is my dear friend, occasionally oversteps his bounds. We are treated as a second-class people in our own land and every day I feel as if the noose closes about our necks and the Feanorians agitate Melkor, spurring him into action. I certainly do not like that Artanis and Finrod see it as necessary to conceal the true events of their migration from us.

Yet, it seems to me that there is nothing to be gained by ignorance. The Noldor came here ignorant of us and it served no purpose but to make a mess of things. There is much to be said for the fact that Finrod and Artanis sought to learn about us, to assimilate in a way while so many others did not. We should not turn our allies against us nor turn our backs to them. If they can learn from us then we can learn from them as well.

Moreover, I cannot help but think that we must look at this situation through the lens of practicality. It is unrealistic to think that the Noldor will simply go away, they are a fact of our world now and what good does it do us to turn our back on this world? It is only by seeing things as they actually are that we have any hope of progress or any chance of rebuilding this kingdom. If that is so, then why should I hesitate with Artanis? In time she will tell us what we wish to know. I would like to believe that I can trust her."

"Because you are young," Thingol said. He laughed abruptly and his ire seemed to pass like a cloud in the spring sky. "And I am glad for it. As of late I find myself feeling as though I am merely a king trying to keep his kingdom on the map for as long as possible, delaying the inevitable." Despite the smile on the King's face, there was certain melancholy tone to his voice.

"Uncle…" Celeborn began, not entirely sure what he was feeling, but Thingol interrupted him.

"I do hope you stay that way – young." The King laughed, turning to his nephew with a smile, and Celeborn knew that the conversation had come to an end. "Do not become like me – old and jaded and overly critical." Silence hung between them before it was broken by the rattling of the silver steps.

"Hey! Ho! Celeborn's beat us to it!" In came the jovial Galathil and his somewhat less jovial cousin, Oropher. Celeborn silently thanked the Valar for his brother, who could smooth over any situation.

"Little brother!" He greeted Galathil. His dark-haired brother threw himself down beside him while Oropher set a second pitcher of ale and three goblets down. "Hello Oropher." His cousin waved to him in reply.

"What do you want?" Thingol asked Galathil suspiciously, though he could not quite keep the smile from his face.

"What do I… want?" Galathil spluttered, touching a hand to his chest in feigned shock. "Why nothing of course, save to spend time with my favorite uncle, whom I love and adore." But Celeborn could tell from the nervous look that Oropher was only just barely masking that they had indeed caused some sort of trouble. "Honestly, Celeborn," Galathil addressed his brother. "Does he ever ask you these sorts of distrustful questions?" Celeborn merely snorted in laughter. Galathil was always a spectacle when he was attempting to hide evidence of his wrongdoing. "Really uncle," Galathil continued, "how many trade deals have nearly gone awry because my older brother cannot keep his loud, judgmental mouth to himself?"

"Celeborn," said Thingol, "offends people to their faces, where all is laid out plainly for everyone to see and can be immediately dealt with. You, Galathil, and you Oropher, do not think I have forgotten about you," Thingol gave Oropher a pointed look, causing the flaxen-haired Sinda to shrink back, "you work your mischief in secret, where none may see, then it rears its ugly head and the terrible fruits of your labor are brought forth when it is most inconvenient and causes the greatest amount of trouble."

"Yes Galathil, you are terribly inconvenient," Celeborn chimed in.

"You wipe that smile off your face Celeborn before I wipe it off for you." Galathil shot back.

"What have you done? Oropher?" Thingol's searing gaze settled upon Celeborn and Galathil's cousin, who was far less adept at keeping secrets from his uncle.

"Nnn..n..n..n..nothing uncle." Oropher stammered, his face blushing as red as a forest rose. Just then the steps rattled once more and Saeros appeared, looking quite cross indeed, and whispered something in Thingol's ear.

"Galathil, Oropher, come with me." Thingol commanded icily, descending the stairs after Saeros. The two young elves exchanged panicked looks.

"Oh you're not sorry at all, you're just upset that you've been caught." Celeborn laughed.

"As if you're so innocent! He doesn't know even half of the mischief that you've worked," Galathil chided his older brother. "I know it was you that dumped water on those ellith in the white dresses at the summer festival five years ago."

"I'm not silly enough to get caught," Celeborn said with a great deal of satisfaction. "What did you do anyway?"

"The nurses were bathing in those secluded shallows down by the Sirion and we stole their dresses!" Oropher whispered gleefully before the two stumbled down the stairs after Thingol. Celeborn laughed and finished off the ale.

Celeborn, thought Finrod, was an enigma. He could at the same time, be equally as serious as he was jovial, equally as kind as he was merciless. Even now, nearly five years after their initial arrival in Menegroth, he was familiar with Celeborn's behavior, with the sort of things he said, with the dangerous nature that lurked just beneath the surface, and the Sinda still seemed to utterly confound him at times. He could see why his sister found him irresistible; she could never leave any mystery unsolved. Yet Finrod liked Celeborn very much and held him in high regard; you always knew where you stood with him. And Finrod felt deeply indebted to him for all he had taught him, for it had certainly aided him greatly in the building of Nargothrond, a project yet unfinished.

He smiled, reviewing his upcoming plans for his city in his mind, wondering if the marble for the columns would be ready upon his return. Finrod was the type of person who, once he started a project, was loath to rest until it was complete, and yet it was good, he mused, to visit with friends in Doriath once more. He pushed the thoughts of Nargothrond from his mind, instead turning to look at Celeborn, who was at this moment reclining against the bole of the tree. Their troop of five wardens sat in the high limbs, some were singing softly but most were quiet, resting, for they had come many leagues that day and Celeborn had pushed them hard, making with all speed for Menegroth as they had been in their outpost in the woods for nearly two months.

The Prince was relaxing lazily like a great forest cat, content to bask in the shade. But Finrod knew that, in an instant and without any warning, that cat could leap from its royal cushion and maul a man, tearing him limb from limb. Perhaps that was his most lasting impression of the Sindarin prince, usually he was a deeply wise, quiet, elf content to wander peacefully beneath the trees, he could become vicious and deadly in the matter of a moment. He felt a slight shiver trace its way down his spine. Truthfully, he was a bit frightened of Celeborn.

If at first he had been a bit put off by the Sinda's aggression, he was now accustomed to it, though not any less afraid of it. For, when he was not at Nargothrond, he had spent some months of the past five years wandering through the outskirts of Beleriand with the prince and his wardens and he had seen many things that he could never have imagined. The kinslaying had been a tragedy, but never had he seen the magnitude of brutality that the elves of Beleriand lived in constant balance with. To think that they lived always in danger of such things as he had seen … he was not surprised that they could be so deadly, more naturalistic.

He had learned the art of war, as practiced in these lands, by Celeborn's side. And he had seen many creatures he had never dreamed of: the great hulking trolls, the swift and powerful wargs, but worst of all the black and deformed orcs, shadows of the elves that they had once been. He had watched the silver flashing of Celeborn's axe as it cleaved the stone-like appendages of trolls from their hideous bodies. He had heard the heavy thud of the prince's arrow as it found purchase in the neck of an orc and the sick gushing squelch as Celeborn tore his deadly barb from the orc's windpipe, ripping out its throat.

Finrod had been sick during this first battle, traumatized by the death around him. And Celeborn had looked at him as if he were a child, saying, "You too will grow accustomed to it." And he had. At first he had thought that Celeborn took pride in his killing. For the Sinda did not bother to wipe the blood from his body and, only as an afterthought, wiped the gore of his enemies' intestines from his form. He had even, on occasion, seen him use the blood of his kills to paint strange characters upon his skin. But the most sobering of all was that Celeborn seemed not at all bothered by the violence. He did not grieve after battle, nor speak nor sing of it. His eyes did not change when he killed; he was untroubled by it. And there were no ceremonies or rituals that were performed either before or after the killing, as the Noldor would doubtlessly have done. They came. They killed. They kept going. It had taken him several years to realize that Celeborn did not take pride in killing nor did he enjoy it. To him, it was merely a fact of life, the same as eating or breathing.

Finrod pondered all of this as his hands played with the wood of the tree beneath him. He heard the soft hum of a flute and glanced up, seeing that Celeborn had produced a small pipe and was fiddling around with it, not playing any sort of song but only experimenting with notes. The cacophany was suiting to this earth, thought Finrod, the story of its marred creation coming to mind. The Noldo's fingers traced the rough bark, dipping into crevices and admiring the twisting sinews of the wood. He heard a sudden laugh from Celeborn and the flute emitted a sharp unplanned note. Finrod looked up, surprised. It was not often that Celeborn laughed.

"You are tickling the tree." The Sinda said with a grin. "It is quite giddy at the moment."

"Oh?" Finrod said with a laugh, "If I have offended it then I beg pardon."

"It isn't offended. It's rather fond of you in fact." Celeborn said with a glimmer in his green eyes. Sometimes, Finrod thought, he fancied he could almost hear the soft murmuring of the trees, almost feel the lifeblood within them and believed that they did indeed hold long slow conversations with the Prince of Doriath. At other times he resolutely believed that Celeborn was yanking his chain, so to speak.

"Tell me, Celeborn," began Finrod, voicing a question that he had held in his mind for a very long time, "I have heard much praise of your bow and heard it spoken of as a great and mystical weapon. Never have I seen you miss a shot. Tell me then, from whence comes that magnificent weapon."

Celeborn quirked one silver brow up, skeptically. "It is not because of my bow that I do not miss a shot. It is because of my skill." His face was straight but, again, Finrod could not tell whether he was jesting or not. "Here," The elf held the unstrung bow out to the Noldo, "string it."

Finrod took the bow and bent the wood, stretching the twine, attempting to string the weapon. But, try as his might, his arms shook and he could not make the ends meet. After several fruitless minutes he sighed and handed the bow back to Celeborn. The silver lord grinned and, with effortless ease, strung the mighty bow. Finrod sighed, defeated, not understanding what the Prince had meant to communicate. Celeborn saw it register in the Noldo's eyes. "You do not understand." He said, not a question, a statement. Finrod shook his head. "In time." Celeborn replied, ever abstract, like the trees he claimed to converse with. "Do not trouble yourself over it. It is nothing so magnificent as Beleg's bow."

Suddenly he froze, tensing, whatever he had meant to say forgotten as the tips of his ears twitched slightly, and Finrod knew that he had heard something. The march wardens too, had suddenly become alert. Finrod had still not attained their speed in perceiving threats. Wordlessly, Celeborn held out a hand to still him, signaling that none of them should move. They waited in silence for the span of ten minutes and then he saw them approaching, a small band of orcs, their leader mounted on a warg, and with them several wolves of the large gray variety. Finrod felt his stomach turn as he saw that the captain wore a simple mithril circlet and two of the orcs were clothed in what looked as though it had once been elvish clothing, a gray cape, a well crafted leather belt. He looked to his right and saw that Celeborn had noiselessly nocked a long white-fletched arrow on the string of his bow, motioning for the others to do the same.

Finrod silently pulled back the string of his own bow as he felt the pre-battle nervousness flutter through his stomach. But this was normal, he had learned, even Celeborn had confided in him that he often felt the same, though he did not show it. Years of the Prince's careful training by example and instruction had sharpened Finrod's senses to the ways of fighting in this land. Now he fought and killed as well as any of them, except Celeborn, Mablung, Beleg, and Thingol himself. And he had seen the woodland lord watching him, silently noting when he displayed Noldorin styles and techniques, sometimes melding or even outright adopting them into his own fashion of fighting, just as Finrod had adopted many of the Sindarin techniques, training Nargothrond's wardens in the style of Doriath's.

Silently, they crouched, waiting in the treetops. Still, Celeborn had them hold, tracking the warg of the leader. The silver head nodded in his direction and Finrod knew that he wanted him to take him out. With the tip of his arrow he tracked the shaved skull of the large orc. The creatures moved across the earth and it seemed to shrink and grow discontent at their unfriendly touch. He could hear their harsh breathing and the sputtering of saliva between their chipped yellow teeth. The leader was passing directly below him and Celeborn nodded, almost imperceptibly. The Noldoring and Sindarin princes let their arrows fly at the same second and with a sharp thwack they slammed home, straight down through the center of the the warg and orc captain's heads, splitting them like fresh gristly melons.

Panic broke out as the remaining twelve orcs scurried about, simultaneously attempting to avoid the arrows that flew at them and locate their attackers. The wardens' arrows felled an additional five orcs, meaning that every arrow had found its target. At Celeborn's piercing whistle the elves hung their bows over their backs and dropped from the trees.

Celeborn took his great battle axe in hand and so quickly did he move that he seemed to be only a flash as he carved his way through orc flesh. Finrod unsheathed his sword, for he preferred it to the Moriquendi axes, and drove it into the nearest orc, kicking it off his blade before turning and beheading another. And then they were finished. Their five wardens stood, eyes alert, axes dripping with black orcish blood. They bent to wipe them and Celeborn kicked over the body of the orc leader, a slight sneer on his lips as he tore the mithril circlet from its broken head. The other elves divested the dead bodies of any elvish articles, evidence that these had recently feasted on one of their kin.

"Green elves, probably." Celeborn whispered to the Noldor prince. But his eyes were not sad, he had seen this far too often. Finrod knew that, when they returned, they would send the articles to the green elf chieftains until they could be identified. It was not his first time to see this either. The elves were skinning the three gray wolves. "These," Celeborn said, tearing the pelt from a wolf single-handedly, the sinew of his muscles flexing beneath the skin of his arm, "had no part in feasting on elf flesh, but they would soon have feasted on the orcs, or so they planned to." He held the great hide out to Finrod. "A mantel for your sister perhaps? It will be cold soon. We mustn't be wasteful." Finrod took the skin from the Sindar and tied it to his cape. Though he lived in Nargothrond, he dressed in the fashion of Celeborn and the wardens now, it being very suitable and practical to the land.

The elves leapt into the trees again and made their way towards Menegroth. Why should Celeborn care whether or not Artanis had a fur cape? Finrod felt slightly irked by Celeborn's tone when speaking of his sister. When he had left Menegroth the two had hardly been friends, now that he had returned to pay a visit he found that things were not as he had left them. He knew not what had passed between Celeborn and Artanis in his absence but he had his suspicions, fueled by the rumors that flitted about the capital of Doriath like moths. And he had reason to suspect that these were true, for on a time he had gone to Artanis's chambers during the day, when the Sindar usually slept, and he had not found her there, nor could he find her anywhere, nor had he been able to find a single one of her servants who would divulge her location, though he was certain that some of them knew. And at those times Celeborn was also nowhere to be found. Yet, most of all, it was their eyes that betrayed them, not only the stolen glances they directed at each other when they thought that no one was looking, but the mirth and joy that resided within their depths now. Artanis seemed to float rather than walk lately, and Celeborn had grown even cockier still, a feat that Finrod would hardly have believed possible. His heart churned in anger at the thought of it.

He had asked his friend to watch after his sister and keep her safe, now there were some who said that he had taken her into his bed instead and Finrod was haunted by the nagging, persistent thought that Celeborn had betrayed his trust. Yet even as that thought surfaced in his mind he wondered why he felt that way, for if it had been any two other elves he would doubtlessly have said that they were adults and free to do as they wished. He had bound Celeborn to no oath, indeed, he had not forbidden him from seeking her hand at all, though he had warned him that she was likely to spurn any suitors.

Perhaps that was it, perhaps he was merely…surprised…that she accepted him. No, it was not that innocent he admitted to himself. He was surprised that she had taken a _Moriquendi_ lover, for the words of the Feanorians still clouded his heart, though he knew that such talk of races was reprehensible. But that was only an excuse: to say that he opposed them because Celeborn was a _Moriquendi_ and Artanis a _Calaquendi_ and the races ought not to be mixed. What he was really concerned about, he knew, was that his sister would divulge their dark secret to Celeborn out of love, or in a moment of weakness, or at his urging. For Celeborn was no fool and, though he did not speak of it, well did he perceive that they kept some terrible secret.

But things were not that simple. For it was not only fear or anger that twisted Finrod's heart, but jealousy as well: jealousy that his sister, who had once been his closest companion and confidant, would forsake him for Celeborn's sake and jealousy that his sister had stolen his friend from him, for Celeborn was far closer to her now than to Finrod. Even as he admitted it to himself he was struck by how silly the thought was, for of course her relationship with Celeborn was of a different nature than that relationship that she had with her brothers or Celeborn's friendship with him. _I should be happy,_ he thought, for Celeborn was his friend, whom he respected, should not it gladden his heart that the two of them had found love in each other? And what reason did he have to wish to deny her that? She was a grown woman, with the needs and desires of a grown woman, yet his heart was repulsed by the thought, for he could never think of her as anything other than his baby sister and the thought of…his friend, taking such liberties with her sickened him.

Or perhaps it sickened him because why should the two of them be happy when he and Amarie were sundered forever and eternity? It had all been well and good when she had been alone too, but now Artanis had Celeborn and Angrod was married as well. Aegnor was not involved with anyone, at least as far as he knew, but he had always been closer to Angrod than to Finrod and now Finrod felt himself bereft of companionship. 'I am an extraordinarily selfish elf,' the Lord of Nargothrond thought to himself. Yet even as he said it his anger with Celeborn grew hotter, for having made him feel this way.

By nightfall of the next day they had arrived at Menegroth and immediately they had stopped by the launderer's to deposit their filthy clothes. They stripped off in a small private antechamber there and Celeborn took a gray cloth offered to him by one of the young elves who worked in the laundries, thanking him. The elf bowed and offered one to Finrod as well, who took it.

"Join me in the baths?" Celeborn asked.

"Gladly." Finrod said, anticipating the tension releasing heat of the sulfur springs. Though baths were segregated by sex, it had still taken the Noldor a while to get used to the more open physical and sexual attitudes of the Sindar. It was not that they were lustful or bawdy, but rather that, being so very close with nature, they saw nakedness and matters of the flesh as a very natural part of life, something which they did not seek to cover up and of which they were not ashamed. Such topics were openly discussed and the physical form was not, in manner of dress, modestly covered.

Celeborn wrapped the cloth about his waist, twisting and tucking it so that it stayed and Finrod did the same. Once more thanking the launderers, the princes stepped out into the halls. Despite his anger earlier in the day, the Noldo felt a wry grin creeping its way across his face, amused as the Sinda stalked through the halls of the cavern, very nearly naked but not bothered by this in the slightest, just as confident as ever and quite possibly more so. Finrod himself still felt a slight twinge of embarrassment at being mostly unclothed and tended to keep his eyes on the ground when he was in such a state.

They entered the bathhouse, the atmosphere of which was thick with steam so that people seemed to move about in a great cloud of mist, and scrubbed the grime from themselves in the fountains there before entering the tubs of steaming hot mineral water. Finrod relaxed, laying his head back against the edge of the tub. It was soft with a gray violet moss that seemed to prefer the steamy heat of the baths to the out of doors, for he had only seen it here. Occasionally it sprouted small white flowers.

It was one of his favorite rooms in all of Menegroth, which was remarkable indeed, considering how many rooms in Menegroth that Finrod was fond of. He was in the process of building an exact replica at Nargothrond. The walls of the room were of silvery-white streaked limestone and throughout the spacious house were many tall thin pillars of translucent alabaster that came together at the tops to form pointed arches. The upper portions of the pillars, the arches, and the alabaster that connected these structures were ornately carved so that they looked like the finest and most intricate lace. No gemstones or painting was necessary, so fine and lovely was the craft of the masons.

The pools themselves were of limestone and the steaming murky spring water was pumped into them through an ingenious system of underground pipes, which Celeborn, who apparently also had a keen interest in architecture, had explained to him one day. Waters rich with minerals flowed deep in the ground, beneath the earth's crust, and were heated naturally by the earth. These pipes then channeled it up and into the pools through a sort of irrigation system. The water was constantly cycling in and out of the pools, constantly being renewed.

It was customary, before using these sorts of baths, to scrub oneself clean with soap using cool water from one of the many beautiful fountains around the bathhouse. Then one could enter the water without polluting it and making it unusable for others. Finrod had not known this the first time that he had bathed here. Celeborn had accompanied him, to show him how the baths were used and had had to grab a very startled Finrod by the arm as he had attempted to get into the bath without scrubbing first. As it had been only his second day in Menegroth, neither of them had yet acquired a working knowledge, or any knowledge really, of the other's language and so a very awkward explanation by means of gestures had ensued in which Finrod had been made to understand bathhouse etiquette.

He had also learned that teasing was quite common and taken in good humor. Most of it involved puns on the individual's name. Celeborn, for instance, was known for more than the silver hair that was on his head, something which he jovially acted quite proud of when the mood in the bathhouse became boisterous. Finrod had not been subjected to this treatment yet but he had been assured that, as everyone became more comfortable with him, his time too would come. It was not something he was particularly looking forward to … despite how much he did like the baths. He had asked Artanis one day, following his inquiries as to whether the architecture of the female baths was the same as that of the males, whether the she elves also practiced this sort of good-natured teasing and she had confirmed, with a pink blush spreading across her face, that they did. Becoming amused he had pushed her to tell him what they had said but she blanched and refused to say anything at all.

He glanced over at the floating cloud of silver in the water beside him. Celeborn had been submerged for the last several minutes. Momentarily, the Sinda emerged, red-faced, stretched out, and rested his head on the pool's edge in the same manner as Finrod.

"I am growing worried." He said. "Over recent years foul creatures have been coming closer and closer to the girdle. Their increased presence doubtlessly means they are growing less bold, less frightened of us, and if that is so then it must be because their own power and numbers are increasing."

"Do you fear that you will have to go forth and fight them?" Finrod asked.

"Nay," Celeborn replied, "my fear is that Melkor will find a way to break the girdle and they shall enter our realm, where we will have to do battle with them. Our concern is and always has been with keeping the location of this city well concealed, just as you seek to conceal Nargothrond."

"You would not rather, once and for all, eliminate Morgoth?" Finrod queried, his anger from the day before still boiling beneath his surface, spurring him to push perhaps more rudely than he would have otherwise. He had heard the answer to this question before but he had not spoken of this before with Celeborn and the topic greatly intrigued him, for it was, perhaps, the feature that he considered most backwards about the Moriquendi.

"Are you yourself not the king of a concealed city?" Celeborn asked with a quizzical look, and Finrod could tell that his friend had sensed his anger. "Why should we need to eliminate Morgoth, losing many lives in the process, when we may simply stay hidden, safe and happy? Indeed, it was the coming of Feanor's people that stirred him to wrath," Said Celeborn, closing his eyes once more as he relaxed against the side of the pool. "Besides, it would not be possible to do so, for we had not the strength to send aid to Cirdan after the Battle of Beleriand though we greatly desired to do so. It will be a while still before we can rebuild our forces to their former strength."

"While he and his minions slaughter the green elves, the Avari, your kin? Did you not say yourself that Doriath must adapt or die? Is that not what you argued when I proposed to found Nargothrond?" Finrod asked, growing increasingly agitated, for Celeborn's comment about his cousins provoking Morgoth had struck him ill and that was on top of his anger with his friend for not speaking openly with him about Artanis. Yet the ever-present pressure at the back of his mind pulled at his conscience. Who was he to question them when he himself had stood by and watched in horrified paralysis as the Feanorians slaughtered his mother's people? Only Artanis had had the courage to stand with the Teleri that day.

"Though we grieve for those lost to evil, the green elves, the Avari, and the others, they are sovereign people in their own right. They are not children whom we seek to sway to our ways. It is not for us to dictate to them what they should or should not do," Celeborn said, sitting up and opening his eyes, and somehow Finrod got the impression that Celeborn was speaking of more than just the green elves. "Nor have they ever asked us for aid, though they know they could easily do so. They know that they are welcome within the girdle of Melian at any time. They choose to remain without. It is their choice and they are aware of the consequences, both good and bad. If we choose to remain isolated then that is our matter and if they choose to live as they do then that is their matter. We here do not have this urge for conquering and dictating." Celeborn said, the beginnings of anger in his eyes.

But Finrod took offense at those words and replied, saying: "That sort of attitude would not sit well in Valinor for The Valar would put an end to Morgoth's works if things were in Valinor as they are here." It was a weak rebuttal and made weaker still for the fact that it was a front for what he really wished to say: _if things were here as they were in Valinor you would be flogged for having the audacity to take my sister, the daughter of the high king, to your bed and there defile her, you a Moriquendi who has never seen the light_.

"If things were in Valinor as they are here?" The Sinda immediately sat bolt upright. His previous calm had vanished and his green eyes blazed in piercing anger. His voice did not rise to a shout but rather lowered to a deathly quiet, as of the deep earth itself. His body seemed to hold within it a monumental power that he might unleash at any moment and Finrod truly saw why Celeborn was called dangerous. Try as he might, he could not escape his friend's gaze. It seemed as if the very room had disappeared from around them and that always would he be floating in this timeless spaceless place, held paralyzed by the prince's vicious glare.

"And do the Valar love those of Aman more than they love those here? Is Valinor so unmarred that it is worth more than this earth? I think not, for did not Morgoth himself dwell there ere he ever came to these lands? And would your own sister flee from her motherland, pursued by a terrible secret and unhappiness that haunts her if Valinor were so entirely perfect? So often do I hear the praise of the Valar, but I think that I must be forgiven if I can find no benevolence in lords who would let their people suffer and die here while they merely sit in their halls, where they are safe! For they have cast the evil out of Valinor but allow it to spread here, unabated! Blasphemous you may call me but if blasphemy is what you call the belief that the life of a _Moriquendi_," he spat the word, "is in every way equal to and as valuable as that of a _Calaquendi_, then gladly will I blaspheme!"

"I was born into darkness and long did I live, never knowing the day. The light of the trees, which is present in your eyes, does not dwell within my own. But it is far better, I think, to be a blind man but know what is true, than to see clearly with the eyes but not know what it is to be enlightened. Now get thee from me, Finrod son of Finarfin, for I am a prince just as surely as you and I will not listen to your ignorant words in my own palace! Do not forget in whose kingdom you dwell! Go now, for I am sick of looking at you!" Celeborn seethed, pointing at the door. Finrod stood and, with angry injured pride and a great deal of embarrassment, strode quickly from the room. Quiet had settled over the baths and no one who remained dared to look at the Prince of Doriath nor to enter into the pool in which he sat, alone, seething.

Upon returning to his apartments, the furious Finrod had encountered his sister and, throwing the wolf pelt at her, moved to go past her saying, "Behold Lady, a gift from Celeborn, Prince of Doriath." Her hand on his arm had stopped him.

"What has happened, brother, to make you so wroth?" She asked him, for it was rare indeed to see Finrod in such a temper.

"You ought to know, Nerwen!" He spat at her. "Indeed, I am surprised to find you here at all. I surmise that it is only because Celeborn is in the baths that you are not in his bed!"

Artanis released his arm from her grasp and stepped back as though he had physically struck her. "I am a grown elf and what I do is my own business, not yours brother," she said, her eyes unforgiving. _And so I am entirely alone! _The son of Finarfin thought. _My sister will take Celeborn's side rather than mine! She has not even the grace to feign embarrassment at her transgressions!_

"Then you do not deny it, that Celeborn of Doriath is your lover?" He asked her, and Artanis stared at him with cold, hard eyes.

"He is," she said proudly. Finrod shook his head in exasperation.

"Did you think that word would not reach me in Nargothrond: that you and he scarcely make any attempt to hide your actions, and no attempt at all to clear yourselves of the taint of that scandal?"

"What scandal? What taint? What have we to conceal?" Artanis asked, though it was truly more of a rebuke than a question. "One would think you had better things to worry over than what love may pass between a princess of the house of Finwe and a prince of the house of Elwe." Finrod grit his teeth and bit back the angry words, for his sister had echoed Celeborn's earlier sentiment, that he too was a prince, a prince of equal rank, and that this was, after all, _his_ kingdom.

"I wish you were not involved in this business. Celeborn is more perceptive than is good for himself, or for any of us," he said, his anger having turned to a fear that caused him to pace about like a man pursued, for he understood clearly now that it was that very fear, and not any imagined offense that had caused him to speak so rashly to the Sindarin prince, fear that even though he had managed to secure Thingol's support, they might still be found out and then the anger of the Sindar would be very great indeed; he was sure of it.

"It was my choice to make, Finrod, not yours," she said and, at her words he left her, going to his rooms where he might be in peace and not lingering to argue with her any further.

And Artanis stood, her hands clenched in tight fists, trying to will herself not to be angry with her brother, for she knew that he meant well, though his methods were not those she would have chosen. But she could not put her anger away entirely, for it seemed that this same argument and all of its various manifestations would haunt the two of them until at last, like pus bleeding from a scab, it would bear its rotten fruit.

Yet now she could understand Finrod's earlier protestations, for she knew that they had been driven by his fear of losing Nargothrond before he had even had the chance to establish it: by a fear of never realizing that latent potential. It was that same unexpected fear that plagued her now for though she knew it would doubtlessly be her own undoing, she could no sooner keep herself from Celeborn than a moth could keep itself from the flames that would consume it and she worried that she would be torn from him ere their romance had played out, for the secret could not be kept forever, and thus the fear that had haunted her ere Celeborn had kissed her those years ago was reawakened in her heart, though it had slept for many years.


	9. Chapter 9：The Widening Gyre

**The Widening Gyre**

Doriath: 9th Chapter

* * *

><p>"The falcon cannot hear the falconer;<br>Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold"

_- W.B. Yeats_

* * *

><p>Author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to follow, favorite, and review. You all truly are such a great help and inspiration! Sorry that it has taken me so long to get this chapter up. The next ten chapters are some of the most important to the whole story and, though they are already written, it has taken me a lot of editing to get them right. In addition, I've been having a lot of car trouble lately and I'm a little further behind on my thesis than I would like. Nevertheless, I will try to keep uploading weekly! Please drop me a review if you have a spare moment! Thank you and enjoy.<p>

* * *

><p>Artanis was a bit nervous and absentmindedly rubbed her hands on her white gown while she waited for Celeborn to return. Whatever he was about had kept him unusually late today, leaving her alone with the dark thoughts that had plagued her so much recently, and all the more so since Finrod and Celeborn had had their bitter argument.<em> If the Sindar knew…if they only knew the truth of everything…<em> She shrugged as if she could shake off the foreboding that sat so heavily upon her.

Though nearly a month had passed now since her lover's spat with her brother, she had not yet spoken to Celeborn of what had passed between him and Finrod, nor had he spoken to her of it, but she knew it plagued him all the same and he remained rather taciturn, even when he was alone with only her for company in his quarters. And, as much as she wished for peace between the two princes again before her brother returned to his own realm, she had to admit that even she was puzzled by the attitude that Finrod had affected.

She lay back into the familiar, lush bed as she waited for the Prince of Doriath, spinning her thoughts over and over in her mind, trying to distract herself from the web of darkness that seemed to have invaded her mind of late. Celeborn's rooms were beautiful and, whenever she was here, which was almost always in recent years, she felt certain that she was in the heart of the forest itself.

The large fireplace was stone with a mantle of roughly hewn oak above which was hung the mounted head of a great black bear. In the fireplace itself was a fire, burning brightly now, for it was cold this time of year. She shivered at the thought, for the winters of Doriath were bitterly cold, even for elves, and her gown was not so modest. Her arms were chilly to the touch, causing her to pull the bearskin blanket around herself more tightly. Before the fireplace was spread a great rug, the pelt of some enormous sable beast, though what exactly it was she had no idea. Celeborn had hunted them all himself she knew, with the King or with Beleg and Mablung.

Upon this lay long arrows which he had been fletching only last week, a task that he had abandoned some days ago, growing bored, and she had not yet gotten after him to clean them up. And there also was one of the low wooden tables which the Sindar were so fond of, surrounded by a great many cushions, some in better condition than others. There was a chaise as well and several mismatching chairs sitting about the outskirts of the rug. A pleasant room it was indeed, with a feeling of great warmth and welcome, but also an aura of privacy and contemplation, the only sound being the trickle of the brooks and streams that ran through the floor, and Artanis ever felt when she entered here that she had found refuge from the hustle and bustle of courtly life in this city, a place where she might be herself. Celeborn had encouraged her to make it her own as well, and bring whatever she liked there, for it still resembled a bachelor's room or a huntsman's keep, certainly one would never have guessed from the shabby furnishings that it was the apartment of the High Prince, but she rather liked it the way it was.

What the sparse and rustic furnishings lacked in appearance the room itself made up for. The ceiling was the same as in the rest of Menegroth, exquisitely beautiful, a perfect mirror of the sky. The stone here was carved in the likeness of trees like the rest of the palace but these were more finely crafted and of a superior quality than even those in Thingol's great hall. Their leaves, she had noted, seemed to be made of pure unblemished emeralds veined in silver and gold, rather than the green glass that made up the leaves of many of the trees in the public places. The light from the fireplace glinted off of them beautifully. But these were not the only trees in the room for there were many potted saplings as well. So fantastic was the design and stonework of Celeborn's quarters that, the first time she had visited this place, it had taken her a moment to realize that the saplings were not stone trees like the many pillars which held up the high ceilings and whose boughs formed canopies across the night sky of the roof. It was a bit like living in a greenhouse.

Artanis stood, leaving the bearskin blanket behind on the bed and moved to stand before the fireplace, bending to tend to a sapling of ash. Nearly as soon as she had done so, she heard the door open and shut, the faint sound of the footman and the valet's greetings, and her lover's purposeful strides. A smile flitted across her face, though she did not turn to greet him, and, while she still tended to the sapling, she heard him stop in the entryway, watching her no doubt; something that always pleased her for some reason.

As ever, Celeborn found himself entranced by Galadriel's beauty. Her skin almost appeared to be glowing in the warm light of the fire and her white gown was of a decidedly Sindarin cut that left her slender, beautiful arms bare as well as her shoulders, where shadows fell into the delicate curve of her neck and clavicle. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulder to tumble to the floor as she bent to touch the small, struggling sapling and he could not help but imagine how he later planned to wrap his hands in it.

He was amused by her antics and so he grinned a grin brimming with confidence and said: "I see that you cannot be left alone, even for a brief period of time, without meddling." At the sound of his cool voice Artanis stood slowly and turned to face him with arms crossed over her lovely chest and a warning look in her eyes, though she could not entirely keep the smile from her face, for she was well accustomed to his jokes by now.

"Ingrate." She whispered the word, enunciating every syllable as she narrowed her eyes. "I have healed your precious tree and this is the thanks that I receive."

"And you have not prepared my dinner," he said with a smirk. "What a pity."

"You evening might go better if you were to speak to me in a gentlemanly manner," she told him.

"If you would prefer," he said, speaking in the horridly florid courtly Quenya that Finrod had taught him, "I could speak to you as a Noldorin prince, in insipid euphemisms and useless metaphors." It managed at last to draw out a wholehearted laugh from her and, seeing the smile that now brightened her face he could not help but smile as well.

"Oh no, please don't," she insisted, still laughing. "It would sound so strange coming from you and you know how I despise that sort of language besides."

"As you wish," he said, grinning, for he did love making her laugh. "Come here." He held out his arms, which she went to eagerly, and enfolded her in his embrace.

"Court today?" She asked him, noticing the formality of his robes. "You are quite later than I had expected."

"Aye," he said, "a most unpleasant affair. Uncle deals with all the serious things himself and leaves me the cases of bakers squabbling over bread prices and the sort. But surely you do not wish to hear about such tedious things; tell me your thoughts. Weaving again today?"

"Nay," she said, releasing him from her embrace as he shrugged off his formal garments and threw himself down on the cushions. "Today was lembas, with Luthien."

"Ah, that is good," Celeborn said. "My cousin is too impulsive. You are a good influence on her."

"I?" Artanis laughed, as she sank down beside him, wrapping her arms about him and nestling her head against his shoulder. "I assure you dearest, I am no paragon of restraint!"

"Oropher too, is impulsive," Celeborn continued to muse. "All of my cousins are."

"They pale in comparison to mine, I assure you," Artanis said.

"I have not yet had the honor of meeting them," Celeborn replied, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

"Maglor isn't half bad," she laughed, "Maedhros has his good days as well. And what of you, Celeborn? Are you not also a bit impulsive?" How easily he had led her to the thrust of her argument and she felt him stiffen a bit at the realization that he had fallen into her snare.

"That," he said, a bit coldly, "had little to do with impulsivity."

"Is that so?" She asked him, stroking his hair to calm his temper.

Celeborn cleared his throat and sat in silence for a moment. He deeply regretted the harsh words that had passed between Finrod and himself, regretted the unrestrained anger that he had shown his friend, and yet he knew that he had said many things that were needful for Finrod to hear, though he could doubtlessly have found a better way of going about it. He traced the rim of his cup with his finger and Artanis waited in silence, offering no words to give him relief from his predicament.

"Then what was it about?" He heard her ask, the last question he wanted to hear, for

Finrod's words had bothered him for various reasons, not least of all because there was some truth in them, like a grain of sand in an oyster forming into a pearl, so did the words of his friend work upon his mind. _Did you not say yourself that Doriath must adapt or die? Is that not what you argued when I proposed to found Nargothrond?_

He found himself wanting to bite back at Galadriel with harsh words, saying; _you would not understand! _For how could she understand? The Noldor had come here so brash and defiant, so filled with righteous anger that Melkor had dared to kill their trees, ready and willing to burn their own lives away like ether to avenge that robbery, with little knowledge of or regard for the ramifications of war and death. Trees: Celeborn had not the luxury of shedding tears over lost trees when the price his people paid for Melkor's evil was their own lives.

That first morning – how could he ever forget it? He had been at the borders with his march wardens and all of a sudden the horizon had begun burning, like parchment lit in a fire, and a great gaseous ball of yellow flame had begun to slowly ascend the heavens. Yet she would think him a fool, childlike, ignorant if he were to confide in her that he had cried in terror at that moment, thinking that all of Arda had come to an end, that Illuvatar had forsaken them entirely. _You are ignorant, Celeborn, an ignorant Moriquendi, _the imagined words echoed in his mind. The Noldor had known of these goings on, but no message had come from the Valar for his people, no sign nor symbol to warn them that they were not all about to combust in a great ball of fire. Galadriel had come here with the sun, come with great ambitions and hopes, yet the coming of the sun and the arrival of the Noldor had ushered in an age of fear for the Sindar from the very first.

Even in the midst of the Battle of Beleriand, fighting by Thingol's side beneath the stars, he had never known such fear. For he had always been certain that Doriath would endure, always been sure that Thingol could never be struck down. But on that morning, on that morning when that massive, burning light had crested the horizon, everything that he had believed, every doctrine of life, every certainty he had maintained, had vanished and fled like ghosts at dawn, as ephemeral as plum blossoms in the spring. How could Finrod or Galadriel understand what such a thing was like, to have your entire world so utterly upended?

He became conscious of Galadriel taking his hand, holding it in her own, letting it rest in her lap while she leaned her golden head against her shoulder and suddenly his burden felt lighter. "Celeborn, I did not mean to imply that the fault was yours," she said softly. "Indeed, the greater part of the blame may rest upon Finrod's shoulders. As of late I find that I cannot easily understand his thoughts." He reached out to stroke her hair wrapping an arm about her shoulders.

"Whatever you may think, you are not alone," she said. He pressed a gentle kiss upon her head and they sat in silence, merely breathing, for a long while before he spoke again at last, not to reveal his innermost thoughts, for he hardly understood them himself and, moreover, they frightened him greatly. Then again, there was that part of him that could not trust her. _She would not understand,_ his mind told him again.

And so he merely said, "I care for Finrod deeply."

"Then you ought to speak to him," Galadriel said, turning her face upwards to look into his eyes, "for you are his dear friend and he would be sorry indeed to lose you."

"And why can he not be the one to speak to me first?" Celeborn asked, for his heart was still deeply hurt by the angry words that Finrod had spoken.

"Perhaps he shall be," Galadriel said, "I do not know. It is not my place to speak in detail regarding the matter but you may well find that there are many things about Finrod that you have not yet discovered…for I have not spoken to him of it," she said, "but unless I am very much mistaken then I believe that my brother might regret his decision to leave Valinor." His heart is greatly troubled, even as yours is, and I would beg you not think that he meant all that he said for I assure you that he holds you in the highest esteem and your friendship means more to him than perhaps he realizes. I would not have strife between my brother and my lover," she said, "especially if, as I suspect, I am the cause of that discontent."

"No," Celeborn said, wondering if he had been selfish, "it is not your fault, nor the fault of anyone. I will speak with Finrod and see if I cannot make peace between us." Yet his heart was not as calm as his tone would have implied, for anger dwelt there still, but if it would make Galadriel's burden lighter then he would do what he could to ease it.

* * *

><p>"Venessiel," Celeborn said as he approached her, passing by the numerous desks of the money changers and accountants. The halls were filled with the sound of clinking coins and the gentle hubbub of conversation. The Minister of the Treasury looked up from the ledgers she had been perusing, placing her pen back in her inkpot. "I would appreciate it if you have a moment."<p>

"I always have a moment for handsome gentlemen," the dark haired elfwoman said with a smile, folding her hands before her on the desk as Celeborn took a seat opposite her.

"It is…somewhat of a private matter," the prince said, lowering his voice to a near whisper, "just something I wish to know for personal interest."

"Oh?" Venessial raised a manicured brow in interest. "And this concerns me? How very interesting indeed."

"I assure you it is nothing of the sort," the prince waved his hand and laughed but there was a certain uncharacteristic nervousness to his mannerisms that made Venessiel take note, though she said nothing of it. "It is only a business matter that I wish to inquire about, nothing more. I would simply prefer if no one knew that I had spoken to you about it."

"Well then," Venessial leaned back in her chair now, eyeing him intently.

"Are there 10 million pieces of silver to spare in the defense budget? That is in funds allocated for armor, specifically."

"A spare 10 million?" Venessiel laughed, "No, of course not. The entire budget has been allocated already." She reached for a leather bound ledger and flipped it open, paging through it. Celeborn could see her lips moving as she worked the calculations over in her mind. "The account for the armory contains only 4.5 million. At best there could be 6 million," she said. "That figure comprises the remaining budget allocated for armor and assumes that any remaining money allocated for other purposes would channeled out of their accounts and into armor instead."

"And if money could be moved there from other sectors besides defense, the Ministry of the Interior perhaps, Saeros has maintained a surplus this year I know, what then?" Venessiel sighed and looked through her books again.

"That is possible," she said, looking at Celeborn with a perplexed expression, "though certainly not advisable. You would need the king's mandate to achieve such a thing and he will never grant it."

"No, no, that is not what I wish," Celeborn said. "Just indulge my curiosity for a moment more, I beg you. Has Mablung made some withdrawal from the armory funds? For I recall that it was far larger only recently."

"Not Mablung, no," Venessiel shook her head, and she paused for a moment in indecision, looking distinctly as though she knew more than she ought to say. She shifted nervously in her chair, raised her chin, and, at last, spoke, "it was none of the king's ministers. Indeed, it was the king himself who withdrew nearly all of the funds allocated to the armory."

"And Mablung did not sign off on that?" Celeborn asked.

"No. The king does not need a minister's consent, save mine, to withdraw funding," Venessiel said, "and, as the king's hand, neither do you for that matter, so long as you have the king's consent." She knew, of course, that Celeborn knew this as well but it seemed as though he spoke from disbelief rather than ignorance.

"What did he use it for?" Celeborn asked tersely and Venessiel could see that he was growing angry. His green eyes darted back and forth as though he were analyzing various scenarios in his mind and his jaw was clenched tightly, breathing hard through his nostrils.

"I should not be speaking of this!" She hissed in a low voice, looking nervous. "It is the King's private matter. You may well be the High Prince, but that does not mean that you may know whatever you want."

"You underestimate me," he whispered. "I will find out, if not from you than in my own way. Which would you have, Venessiel, will you tell me yourself or shall I root it out?"

"I assure you I have never underestimated you. It was given over to the preparation of Nargothrond," Venessiel said somewhat grudgingly, producing the form with Thingol's signature and pushing it across the polished wood of her desk towards Celeborn.

"That money should have come from the Ministry of Commerce, as was agreed upon. There was plenty of silver allocated for just that purpose," Celeborn replied. "What need had Finrod for more money than we were already giving him? He brought many a treasure out of Tirion. He said himself that he needed not all of the assistance that Thingol gave."

"Yes, that is so," Venessiel said, "though I doubt that Lord Finrod knew anything about the matter at all as this was done separately, in private by the king without consulting his council…or you it seems. He seemed quite anxious…"

"That is unlike him. I cannot believe…" Celeborn allowed his voice to trail off in anger.

"He is worried by the events of late: the coming of the Noldor, the recent increase in activity of Morgoth and his armies. Perhaps he wishes to secure a firmer alliance with the children of Finarfin."

"Yet…" Celeborn stopped himself.

"Yet he expressed displeasure at your interest in the Lady Artanis," Venessiel finished for him and Celeborn said nothing except to nod curtly, for the taste of Artanis's lips still lingered on his own and he feared that if he were to speak of her their covert courtship would be revealed. "Perhaps that has changed?" Venessiel shrugged. "Of course, I do not know. You have more insight into the way the king's mind works than I. Ah, yes." She produced another form, this one also bearing the king's signature. "Six million silver for assorted gifts."

"Assorted gifts!" Celeborn cried, slamming his fist into the top of the desk, causing Venessiel to jump. The treasury went quiet and not even the clinking of coins could be heard. Celeborn shifted in his chair and rubbed self consciously at his chin as if trying to disguise his outburst of temper. "Could you not have stopped him? You too are his counselor Venessiel. He would heed your word in matters of money. Your signature is on that document. You could have refused!"

"He would not be dissuaded," she said but Celeborn shot her a reproachful look, for he knew that Venessial was not easily swayed, not unless she wished to be.

"Six million…" he whispered incredulously. "Our resources were nearly sapped dry by the Battle of Beleriand and still we have not recovered. This is not the time to be spending money buying alliances rather than rebuilding our strength!"

"Celeborn," Venessiel leaned forward, whispering, pausing and waiting to continue until the chatter and hubbub grew loud once more. "You must tell me what this is about." Her black eyes were fierce, boring into his. "You give me reason to think that I have cause to worry. Something has happened and you had better tell me what."

"There…" Celeborn leaned closer so that only she could hear. "There is an incident with the dwarves that I am investigating."

"What sort of incident?" Venessiel asked.

"They are claiming that Thingol brought them here with the promise that he would order 10 million silver worth of armor, a promise which he now refuses to keep. Meanwhile, Thingol claims that no such agreement was ever made, merely that the dwarves wished to use our smithies and trade under the protection of our tariffs, which he granted them the right to do. The dwarves claim that there is a written contract yet Thingol denies its existence and I have found nothing."

"Is that it?" Venessiel leaned back, laughing and shaking her head. "Celeborn, they are dwarves! They lie and they grub for money and riches. I know; I deal with them every day in here. The number of times that I have caught them falsifying contracts, embezzling, trying to augment their wages, even stealing outright are beyond number. They can't help it; it is in their nature. You cannot blame them for what comes naturally to them, simply remain vigilant so that they don't rob you blind."

"If you had been there then you would take them seriously as well," Celeborn replied. "I have never seen them so furious. It makes me think that mayhap their anger is in part justified."

"Surely you do not doubt Thingol's word?" Venessiel asked, bewildered. "You would believe a dwarf's word over your own king's" She looked off-put.

"I am not sure what to believe anymore," Celeborn replied. But of one thing he was certain: now that Artanis had given him her hand he intended to take action, to root out whatever ill-begotten schemes lay hidden in this affair for the sake of Doriath, so that his kingdom might be preserved, so that his lady would never again lose a home.

* * *

><p>Finrod son of Finarfin did not often apologize, but there were times when such things were not only necessary, they were right. Nevertheless, it had taken him many weeks to swallow his pride and, at last, he had come here, to wait outside of Elu Thingol's council chamber with the air of a child about to be scolded by his schoolmaster.<p>

Celeborn allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as the total was counted and he saw that his argument against damming the Sirion had carried the vote. The case had been many years in proceeding and, while there were arguments with merit on both sides, he believed that the move was not a wise one overall. The verdict decided, all there rose, for they had been sitting a great while, and there was much bowing and clasping of hands. Celeborn wished nothing more than to change out of the restricting and overly ornate court garments that he wore. Thus, after he had politely thanked those who offered praise for his arguments, he slipped from the room, removing his crown from his head and tossing it in the air before catching it, smiling to himself and thinking that perhaps, if he had time, he would show Galadriel the willow groves this evening.

"Celeborn! I…ah…er" he had almost run directly into Felagund.

"Ah…Finrod," Celeborn said nervously and the two elves stood eyeing each other as two stags preparing to do battle might, skittish yet unable to escape their predicament.

"Well..ah…" Finrod mumbled with a nervous laugh, starting then stopping again.

"I, actually…" Celeborn said, pausing.

"I would speak to you…if you are not too busy," Finrod stammered.

"Yes, yes, I was going to say the same," Celeborn said. "There is, um, there is a…a library close by where we might talk." They shuffled silently towards it and ducked inside, seeing that it was nearly deserted. However, once inside they merely positioned themselves opposite one another, arms crossed over each of their chests, neither willing to start the conversation until finally Felagund could contain himself no more.

"Look here Celeborn," he said, his tone tight with anger, his golden brow furrowed, "what right had you to supersede the names that my parents bestowed upon my sister?"

"I did not know that such an action required the possession of a right – " Celeborn began, the storm clouds gathering quickly in his Sindarin eyes, but Finrod interrupted him angrily, breathing hard through his nostrils.

"No, Celeborn, no, I will have none of your riddles and twisted logic. Nor will I allow you to escape unscathed by replying to my questions with questions. You have only yourself to thank for it, for it was by your hand that I was trained in negotiation. You will answer me plainly now." If the library had been nearly deserted before it was completely deserted now and disgruntled elves filtered past the arguing princes and out the door.

"Because her other names are not suitable," Celeborn replied just as quickly, his true feelings quickly surfacing as ever they did when he was angry. It was his rude abruptness that signaled Finrod that Celeborn meant everything he said with precision. "Artanis? She is a noble maiden indeed, but so are many others, it hardly seems to capture the essence of her fea. Nerwen?" He scoffed. "Forgive me, for I am sure that your parents named her as they saw fit, but there is nothing mannish about her - "

"It is because her temperament is as strong as a man's," Finrod interrupted, anger flashing in his eyes.

"By that measure Melian, or Luthien, or Venessiel might be considered mannish," Celeborn said, his eyes flashing too. "Strength is not confined to males only. Many of my best march wardens are she elves. Melian is the strongest woman I have ever met; how could I associate strength with only men having been raised by one such as her?"

"That I know! But your name, this, this…_Galadriel_," Finrod began, but even the venom he spat that sobriquet with could not make it sound anything less than ethereally beautiful, "how is this name in any way more suitable? You say that her other names are only superficial yet yours is the most superficial yet, for you name her only for her hair, which I find hardly original at all, indeed, a thousand others before you have lusted after it."

"It was not for her hair that I named her _Galadriel!_" Celeborn cried. "If she were bald as a newborn babe I would still have named her thusly!" The both of them fell into silence and Finrod seemed a bit taken aback at finding his assumption had been false, particularly as he had thought himself so clearly in the right.

"Why then, did you name her that?" He asked, a little less angrily, shame beginning to wash over him for having assumed his friend to be so insincere. It was not a mistake he would have made ordinarily, yet jealousy and fear have a way of working upon the mind to make it believe with complete security even the most fantastic of falsehoods.

"For the strength of her fea," Celeborn begrudgingly admitted, for he had not even shared the reason with Galadriel herself. "When first I beheld the dawn it was so bright that it blinded me and I found that my eyes were struck by a great pain and in the dawn's light I saw that the world was painted in colors I had never seen and that many things that had lain unseen were brought to light. The strength of that first sunlight amazed me; I shall never forget it, and at the same time it frightened me terribly, for I thought that the whole of Arda would plunge into flame and burn up like ether." He waited, muscles tense, for Finrod to laugh at the simple ignorance of a dark elf but Felagund did no such thing, merely listened attentively.

"I…I…when I first saw your sister I had much the same feeling," he said growing suddenly bashful, as if it were a great secret. And Finrod once more found himself surprised by his friend, that he would share his opinions so boldly while guarding so closely the inner workings of his heart. "The strength of her fea shone forth so brightly that I could hardly bear to look directly at her and I was amazed, for I thought that I was seeing something entirely new for the first time, a world painted all in new hues, just as I was afraid…well…because she was so very…radiant that I thought she might burn me up like a moth in a flame if I were to touch her."

He glanced up, meeting his friend's eyes, but Finrod did not make fun of him, only smiled, and said, "you do know you are not supposed to look directly at the sun don't you, Celeborn?"

"Well I certainly do now," Celeborn said with a hint of embarrassment, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. "It was very difficult at first. I think I gazed upon it for too long, until my eyes began to hurt at least, and I walked about seeing double for days, silently panicking, thinking that I had ruined my eyesight forever." He raised his eyes again at the snorting, choking sound of restrained laugher that Finrod was now emitting.

"I am sorry, I am so very sorry," Finrod gasped. "I don't mean to make fun of you. It just…I can imagine you walking around bumping into things." But Celeborn grinned too and the thick ice that had lain between them seemed to thaw somewhat.

"Now that I think about it," Celeborn said with a grin, "it does seem rather amusing. But tell me, was my explanation satisfactory?"

"Indeed, it was better than I would ever have imagined," Finrod said. "I worried over it for that is the prerogative of a husband and I thought that you renamed her lightly, with little understanding of the gravity of what you did. But, I can see now that that was not the case, and that you gave the matter more consideration than I had presumed." Celeborn nodded, accepting the apology.

"About…about the matter of…er…taking her to my bed," the Sinda said, trying to broach the topic as delicately as he could, clasping and unclasping his hands behind his back. "I…it is quite usually done between Sindarin couples and, as Galadriel was willing and said nothing to the contrary, I assumed that things were the same amongst your people."

"You could have asked," Finrod said a bit sharply, "or else not been so hasty."

"My apologies. I fear that I have a rather hasty temperament," Celeborn said and Finrod snorted in laughter at Celeborn having stated something that was already blatant. "But Galadriel gave her consent and I do not believe that she needs the approval of anyone to do as she wishes with her own heart…or her body. Though, I assure you that I have not taken her to wife either in body or vow."

"I do not know whether that makes it better or worse," Finrod said. "I cannot pretend that I approve of such an arrangement before marriage but if it is normal amongst your people and my sister has consented then I will not protest, for she is, as you have said, an adult and has the right to do as she pleases in that respect. However, I would have preferred that you had spoken to me of it earlier, or at least been honest with me about your intentions towards my sister from the start, for it was a cruel shock indeed to hear it as gossip from the lips of strangers rather than from your mouth. I wondered if you were not my friend at all, or if Artanis no longer bore me any affection as my sibling."

"I am sorry," Celeborn said. "I did not think…or else I feared the loss of your friendship, but, of course, that is no excuse. I hope that I have not hurt you too deeply."

"It is not entirely your fault," Finrod said, "for Artanis too remained silent and, besides, my own jealousy is partly to blame."

"Over what?" Celeborn asked, yet he regretted the words almost immediately, belatedly realizing the reason.

"Amarie…she dwells in crystal halls across the sea in a palace where I fear I shall never walk again," Finrod sighed, looking so entirely despondent that to look upon him nearly brought tears to Celeborn's eyes. "She begged me, begged me not to come here, begged me to stay with her, to marry her and I wanted to…but more than that I wanted to satiate my other desires, to seek vengeance against Morgoth, to see this world, to build my own kingdom. I suppose…when I heard of you and Artanis together a great jealousy was awakened in my heart. In other words, I became very jealous of you, Celeborn."

"I did not know that you desired me so, Felagund," said Celeborn in an attempt at humor that he hoped would lift some of the heavy sadness that lay upon his friend's heart, "though of course I am not surprised, considering how many others have confessed the same sentiment to me."

"It is not that!" Finrod exclaimed, cracking a grin. "I wondered why my sister should find love while I had lost mine: a wretched thought; I know."

"You might return and find that she loves you still, that there is hope for reconciliation," Celeborn said kindly.

"And what ship would bear me back across the sea to her arms!" Finrod cried as if struck by a pain both sudden and keen. But before Celeborn could wonder at his cryptic words, Finrod spoke again, saying, "nay, her life will be all the better for my absence, for I am a foul friend and a fouler lover still, thinking only of my own selfish desires."

"Finrod, you are no such thing. I have found you to be nothing other than a steadfast and loyal friend!" Celeborn exclaimed, but the Noldo shook his head once more.

"No, Celeborn, it is only because my innermost thoughts are yet concealed that you think in such a way. If they were known to you then I assure you that you would know me for the despicable and selfish creature that I am."

"Let me make that decision for myself," Celeborn said.

"Well then, I will tell you that, even with all of the love that I bear for you and Thingol and your people, when first I heard that you and Artanis were lovers I wished that we were in Valinor, where they would certainly flog you for having the audacity to take a princess of the house of Finwe to your bed and there defile her, you a Moriquendi who has never seen the light. That is why I said to you, 'if things were in Valinor as they are here.' Even now, I cannot pretend that there are not moments where I think of you sometimes as lesser."

It was indeed, as Finrod had said, something that was very difficult to hear and, even thought Celeborn knew that his friend was ashamed of his thoughts, he still felt the anger boiling in him, anger that the Noldor saw them as inferior, treated them as inferior.

"I know it is wrong Celeborn," Finrod said quietly, ashamed, "and I do not believe it. Whenever it crops up in my thoughts I extinguish it quickly, killing it like a bud in first frost, but I would not lie to you and pretend that I am innocent when I am not. The words of my uncle Feanor regarding your people still are engraved upon my mind and it may take me some time before I am entirely able to buff them out."

Celeborn nodded and said, "I will not feign as though it does not injure me to hear such words, for indeed, I am cut to the quick by them, but more than that I am glad that you have not concealed it from me for dishonesty is the one thing that I cannot abide and I despise it even more than I do intolerance."

"I am sorry," Finrod said, "I am not as open-minded as my sister, who has rarely been susceptible to such prejudiced thoughts. But I am trying to learn…indeed, it is thanks to your friendship that I was able to set aside the arrogance and much of the bigoted notions that I held prior to coming to Menegroth. I hope that, if you will continue to be my friend, I may be able to set them aside completely."

"Let us put this misunderstanding behind us then, for I too spoke harshly and in the heat of the moment. Your friendship is not something I would care to lose and I am happy to have it thus restored." Celeborn said, seeing the tension drain from the Noldo at his words.

"Yes, let us be friends again," Finrod said with a smile, clasping Celeborn's hand.

"Then have you any further compunctions regarding my courtship of your sister?" Celeborn asked.

"No, I have not," Finrod assured him, for having aired his thoughts and found acceptance, he found that his heart now felt as light as a feather. "So long as you are honest in your intentions with her."

"You need not fear on that account," Celeborn said, "for I mean to marry her if she will have me."

"Then on that day I hope that I shall be the first to congratulate you," Finrod replied, "for I can think of no one I would rather see her wed."

"In that case," Celeborn said, "perhaps you will join me for a beer?"

"I can think of no more delightful prospect," Finrod said, and together the two of them made their way to the great hall, laughing

and joking as they had many years before.

"You are drunk," Celeborn heard her say, laughing softly as he climbed into bed.

"A bit, only a bit," he replied as her arms wrapped around him. The sun was just beginning to rise and he caught glimpses of her smile in the faint dappled light that filtered down from above. Freeing himself from her embrace momentarily, he closed the bed curtains, plunging them into darkness.

"A bit? You smell as if you have bathed in alcohol!" Galadriel replied but she was not upset and curled up against him as he settled in beneath the blankets. "You are so late. I was beginning to think you would not rest this night."

"I was setting things aright with your brother, as you asked me to," he told her, wrapping an arm about her to pull her closer.

"You rogue," she purred, "coming drunken from a brother's table to his sister's bower."

"It is still my bed unless I am mistaken," he said.

"Ours," she replied with a laugh.

"Should you not be thanking me instead?" He teased her, nipping at her neck.

"My thanks," she whispered into his ear, laughing.

"Then I will give you reason to thank me further," he said.

"Oh shall I?" She asked, "And why is that?" But he made no reply and she needed none, for his mouth was soon busy elsewhere.

* * *

><p><em>The sun seemed unusually hot, or perhpas it was the result of running twenty miles, most probably both<em>, Celeborn thought to himself as he walked wearily away from the finish line, which he had crossed a full five minutes after Beleg, who, he had heard, had trotted merrily across the line without even breaking a sweat. It was unsurprising really; Beleg had always been the fastest of the wardens and habitually won the races each decade.

Celeborn himself had no great interest in running and viewed it as more of a chore than anything; contact sports were more to his liking: sparring, or wrestling, hunting or anything with horses. Yet he made good time for one who did not enjoy the sport, for his physical build was somewhere between Beleg's slenderness and Mablung's muscle-bound physique. He walked further down from the finish line, waiting to see Mablung finish, but there was yet no sight of him. _Still, despite Mablung's ineptitude for running_, Celeborn mused, _at least he had qualified for this first heat. It would have been tantamount to embarrassment for a warden to have not done so and even moreso for the captain of the king's guard._ The rest of Menegroth would be participating in the second heat, which was more for fun than anything, as it was only for common folk and not the warriors. Galathil, he knew, would be running in that and Dairon as well, if Galathil had managed to talk him into it.

"Cousin! To much for you eh?" A jolly but red-faced Oropher joked as he walked past the sweat-drenched high prince. Celeborn laughed and slapped the hand that his golden-haired cousin extended to him. He had been in extraordinarily good spirits of late due to his resounding success in his relationship with Galadriel and the restoration of his friendship with Finrod. It seemed that Oropher was in equally good spirits and Celeborn could guess the reason, for there were rumors circulating regarding his cousin and a certain lady.

"What are you up to Oropher? Mischief I presume?" Celeborn asked with a grin.

"Nothing much," Oropher replied, "and you?"

"Only waiting for uncle to finish so that I may speak to him," Celeborn said. "I heard you were just behind Beleg?"

"Aye, I lost to him by but fifteen seconds," Oropher said, eyes alight with mischief. "Next time I shall have him."

"Really, shall you indeed?" Celeborn laughed. "You're simply lucky that Amdir is no longer with us. He was Beleg's only real competition."

"Sometimes I think that Amdir was the only one with his head on right." Oropher said, growing cross.

"And yet you never liked him when he was about," Celeborn replied.

"Yes well, the past is the past," Oropher replied, brooding, and Celeborn sought to turn the topic away from Thingol's deserter general.

"Do you plan to watch the lady wardens' race later?" He asked, reaching behind him to unstick his matted hair from his back.

"Do I plan to watch the lady wardens?" Oropher instantly brightened, laughing long and hard. "Sometimes I think you know me not at all cousin. I would sooner die than miss that race! Venessiel is running and I plan to be there to watch her."

"In the wardens' race?" Celeborn was surprised. He did not recall her ever having run the races at all, much less in the more difficult and competitive race.

"Aye," Oropher's eyes glimmered.

"It seems you've taken a shine to her in recent years," Celeborn said.

"It seems I have," Oropher grinned. "She and Mablung are finished, in case you haven't heard."

"I heard," Celeborn grinned and shook his head, "and I wondered whether or not you had a hand in it. I know that caution is a foreign notion to you Oropher but perhaps you should exercise it with her. She seems to go through suitors rather quickly."

"You mean she went through you rather quickly," Oropher teased his cousin, laughing, then elbowed him in the ribs. "That's rich Celeborn, very rich indeed, telling me to take caution when you lured that Noldorin princess into your bed within a year of her arrival in Menegroth. Finwe's granddaughter!" The golden-haired Sinda let out a long laugh. "You are even more of an arrogant ass than I am, only you don't like to admit it!" Celeborn grinned at that.

"She is running this year," Celeborn said, stretching his arms, "in the wardens' race. She claims she was quite the runner in Aman."

"Is that so?" Oropher asked. "Well if that is true then I am not sure she will have much competition. None of our current female wardens are particularly swift of foot."

"True," Celeborn replied. "What about Luthien? Do you know if she is running?"

"Oh no," Oropher shook his head dismissively. "Galathil could not get Dairon to run if Luthien would not agree to run with the two of them together. They will all three be in the second heat."

"Perhaps Galadriel will win after all then," Celeborn said.

"Galadriel," Oropher snorted, "doesn't she hate that name you gave her?"

"Extremely," Celeborn laughed. "That is why I call her by it."

"You know, as much as I dislike her, I must agree that she is quite fun to agitate," Oropher replied.

"She's too much like you, that's why you don't like her," Celeborn smiled, raising an eyebrow at his cousin in pleasure as he noted the look of distaste upon his face.

"Well now, you're just trying to get my goat cousin!" Oropher said. "Ah! It looks as though uncle has finished at last. Did you not say that you wanted to speak to him?"

"I did," Celeborn replied.

"Well in that case I shall be on my way to my lady," Oropher said before trotting off.

"Uncle!" Celeborn greeted the King, who was bent over with his hands on his knees, breathing in deep gasps by the side of the finish line, looking very much as though he wanted to retch. "I must speak to you! I mean to ask the Lady Artanis for her hand in marriage."

Thingol raised his eyes to his nephew's with a quizzical look and, in between gasps, let out a rough oath. "Illuvatar!...For fuck's sake Celeborn!...Can you not give me even…a moment…to catch my breath…before descending…upon me…with such…tidings?"

"Apologies uncle," the younger elf said with a grin, "I believe that it was you who taught me to always attack my adversaries when they are at their weakest."

"Damn you," Thingol gasped, looking quite put out. "You young elves…always…getting into all sorts…of business. And what, pray tell…" the king coughed, "has you so convinced that…I am your adversary?" He straightened, seeming at last to have gotten some of his wind back, and took a towel offered to him by a teenage elfling who was doing a very poor job of pretending to have no interest whatsoever in their conversation.

"You spoke to me earlier of your disapproval," Celeborn said, "but you have done nothing in the intervening years to halt the progress of our courtship, though you were aware of its going on."

"Celeborn, I gave you warning and you, as usual, proceeded to do exactly what you wanted with little to no regard for that warning," Thingol said, toweling off his face. "After that point, what you do in your own bed and who you take to it has been of no concern to me so long as there is no accidental marriage and no unexpected elflings. You know as well as I that you need only speak to me of marriage, for you are a prince of Doriath…" Thingol paused, suddenly looking extraordinarily suspicious. "If you are here to tell me that the two of you have married in secret and that Finwe's granddaughter is carrying your child…"

"No, uncle, no!" Celeborn cried, laughing.

"Well then," Thingol said, "things are as they should be," and he grinned. "But this seems to me a strange time to bring up such matters."

"I assure you it is only because you have been so busy of late and the matter weighed heavily upon my mind. I could think of nothing else until I spoke to you of it and today presented the opportunity," said Celeborn.

"You may, perhaps," the King said in reply, "be happy to know that this news does not trouble me as much as I had thought it would. Let us say that my position on the matter has evolved somewhat."

"Then you do not disapprove?" Celeborn asked hopefully as he and his uncle began to stride over to the King's tent.

"Not so much," Thingol said, shaking his head.

"Has it been Melian's influence then that brought about you…evolution?" Celeborn asked.

Thingol shrugged. "Yes, in part. I am still concerned, of course, over what these Noldor have done that seems to have brought them so much grief, yet Finrod and Artanis have been my loyal subjects for nearly ten years now; never have they done anything to earn my ire. You were right to say that they deserve some measure of trust for seeking to adapt to our ways and obey our laws where others do not. Your Artanis has become the close friend of your aunt and my daughter and Finrod's Nargothrond is prospering beyond even our wildest hopes. Indeed, our alliance with the children of Finarfin has grown strong and I feel very confident now that we need not concern ourselves with the Feanorians."

"Our kingdom is prospering, Celeborn, returning to the glory that it held ere Melkor returned to these lands. And with the recent victory of Finrod and the rest of the Noldor in the Dagor Aglareb, we have a brighter future ahead perhaps. Surely the marriage of the High Prince of Beleriand to a Princess of the Noldor could only further enrich our kingdom and our alliance. The house of Elwe and the house of Finwe united at last!" He laughed merrily. "I always did wish for such a thing. How I should like to see Finwe's face were I to tell him! Ah! If only he were here and we could celebrate your marriage together! Now that would truly be a tale for the ages. In other words, you have my consent and, more than that, my approval.

"I am glad to see you so cheerful Uncle," Celeborn said as they entered the King's tent.

"Melian!" The king called out, greeting his wife.

"Auntie!" Celeborn embraced his laughing aunt as she stood from the stool upon which she had been seated.

"Oh Celeborn," Melian laughed, tousling his hair.

"Are you not running today Auntie?" Celeborn asked, noting that she wore a gown rather than the leggings and jerkin that Luthien, who was stretching upon the grass in the tent, wore.

"That would not be quite fair to the other ladies," Melian said with a grin, returning to her seat.

"What isn't fair is that I must run in the second heat," Luthien complained from her spot on the grass, where she sat stretching her legs.

"I heard that Dairon made you promise," Celeborn teased his cousin.

"Yes, because Dairon can't do anything for himself," Luthien grumbled, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

"Always needs you there massaging his insecurities away doesn't he," Celeborn said. It was no secret that he and Dairon did not get along.

"Celeborn!" Luthien slapped his ankle, which was the only part of him she could reach from her position.

"What?"

"He's my friend," she said. "It's alright if I insult him. But you genuinely dislike him and say things just to be cruel. Say something to make me happy now, for you have upset me."

"I am planning to ask Galadriel to marry me," Celeborn said, pouring himself a glass of water from the silver pitcher that sat on the table.

"Already?" She asked, seeming surprised.

"You will find, when your time comes Lu, that these things often happen quickly. It was the same with your parents. It is the same with Galadriel and I."

"Celeborn, she hates that name," Luthien said, looking up and rolling her eyes at him.

"For the sake of the Valar, can't you be happy about anything today Lu?" Celeborn complained.

"I'm only joking," Luthien cackled, slapping his ankle again. "That's simply lovely! I am so happy. She'll say yes of course! But…she really does hate that name."

"I know," Celeborn laughed, sitting on the table and letting the glass hang from his fingertips. "What makes you so sure she'll say yes?" Luthien rolled her eyes again and laughed.

"Silly! Valar, because I am her friend and so she tells me everything, even things I don't want to know! It's Celeborn this and Celeborn that and Celeborn is so perfect, and handsome, and smart, and wonderful," Luthien made a retching sound and Celeborn shook his head. "You wouldn't understand the ways of women, Celeborn."

"You're just jealous Lu," he said with a smirk.

"Not in the slightest." She said. "Believe me, there are things she says that I would rather not know." Celeborn's eyes went wide and Luthien laughed.


	10. Chapter 10: Shadows at Noon

**Shadows at Noon**

* * *

><p>Doriath: 10th Chapter<p>

* * *

><p>"A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies."<p>

_- Alfred Lord Tennyson_

* * *

><p>Author's note: Thank you to new followers BeSpotted, llcyyxx, and rinlossien! And, thank you BeSpotted for your review! I'm sorry that it took me so long to get this chapter up. It is kind of a beastly long chapter and took some pretty heavy editing and rewriting but it is really important to set up what will be happening soon. I'm really excited for the next few chapters. If anyone wants to drop me a review, question, or comment I'd appreciate it!<p>

* * *

><p>Years, they had been courting for years and never had they had any problems, no serious ones at any rate. Yes, it was true that he was aware, they were all aware, that some darkness hung over the Noldor, so very aware, in fact, that it had become somewhat of a cliché, and a poor one at that. He had broached the topic several times with her, yet each time it felt as though a wedge had been driven between them and he was hammering it in further and further, deeper and deeper. Celeborn did not customarily make a habit of continuing a course of action that failed to yield results and so, in time, he had stopped. After all, there had been no other problems; and they were happy, or at least he <em>had<em> been.

Now he was not so certain and, strangely enough, it was the one thing he had expected to lay his singular doubt to rest that had, in fact, had quite the opposite, and unintended, effect. For if they were bonded then there could be no secret keeping between the two of them and, if she had not intended to marry him then why would she have agreed to the courtship? He had expected to make his proposal soon after obtaining the king's permission and yet, from the moment that he had obtained it, doubt had been burgeoning in his mind like a cancer. How strange that, for once, Thingol had welcomed something while he now balked like a horse at the bit. Celeborn was unused to uncertainty and even more unused to indecision. The concepts were as foreign to him as drowning to a fish.

He had gone so far as to approach one of the smiths to have two silver betrothal bands made. Yet days had turned to weeks, weeks to months, and now, for over two years those rings had sat gathering dust in a drawer, though they were far from forgotten; on the contrary, they weighed as heavily upon his mind as if he had a millstone about his neck.

There were some males, he knew, some such as Mablung, that balked at the idea of marriage, at the thought that it would strip them of their freedom, and prided themselves on avoiding it. But Celeborn was not one of these. It was not as though the thought of marriage, once it became such a realistic possibility, had suddenly become frightening, but rather that it had awakened doubts that had slept unknown in his mind, doubts that had lain dormant for many a long year.

At first he had thought that, whatever secret she kept, she must certainly keep it only for the good of another and not because she had played some part in whatever it was. Now he was not so sure. And, what was more, he had begun to suspect that the secret might have some bearing on her visions and, if that were so, then perhaps it was something darker than he had heretofore imagined. For he had been awakened more than once by her nightmares.

He had grown distant of late, he knew. And, of course, as he pulled away she sought increasingly to bring him closer to her. Sometimes he doubted if he knew her at all, yet the thought was so loathsome to him, so heart wrenching, and his own culpability, the thought that he ought to have heeded Thingol's words from the start, so great that he could not bear to dwell on it for very long. It was hard, very hard, to continue trusting her.

"You walk so loudly I could shoot you in the dark…Nerwen," he said in a bored tone as he turned to grin at her. She did not walk as quietly as she thought she did and his Sindarin ears had for some minutes now marked her stealthy approach. The look of surprise on her face was nearly enough to make him forget his grim thoughts.

"Who told you that?" She demanded, her face coloring red. As if Celeborn needed any more horrid nicknames for her. Dammit, it must have been Finrod. Only he knew that damned nickname. Next time he visited from Nargothrond she would show her brother what was what.

"Who do you think?" He replied laughing. "Why are you ashamed of it? There's nothing wrong with being called Nerwen."

"Yet you have just now used it to torment me," she replied with a smug grin, "which implies I ought to be ashamed of it does it not? It is your favorite pastime, or so it seems, name-calling. I imagine you were a horror as an elfling."

However, despite her slight ire at that wretched name, she had to admit that she was secretly pleased, for there had been some unspoken tension between them of late and Celeborn had seemed to her rather more taciturn than usual. Indeed, she had begun to wonder, more often than not, if she had done something to make him so very irritable, for their courtship had, to this point, progressed in a happy fashion and their arguments had been few and far between. It was a relief to see that his humor had returned.

"You should speak to Thingol about that sometime," Celeborn said with a grin. "Oh the stories he would tell you. It seems I was a real terror."

"No doubt," she smirked and rolled her eyes. "I pity him, and your poor brother of course."

"And you were any better? I imagine Finrod would have many stories to tell if I were to ask him," he laughed. "Come, sit with me," he patted the patch of grass beside him. "You meant to push me in didn't you?"

"What? You have the gift of foresight now?" She asked him teasingly as she scrambled down the riverbank to sit beside him. His eyes were focused out on the water now, to where his lure was bobbing peacefully, his fishing line swaying ever so gently in the summer breeze.

"No," he laughed. "But it was not so difficult to discern your motive, however, you ought to be thankful that your plan fell through. It would have gone poorly for you as I would have pulled you in as well."

"Are you so sure?" She asked, skeptically.

"Oh yes. And I would have enjoyed it very much," he grinned at her, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"I think I might have stood a fair chance," she said with a laugh. "I do, after all, excel at distracting you."

"Yes, that is very true," he said, laughing. They sat in pleasant silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the songs of the birds as Artanis readied her fishing pole.

"I haven't seen you fish before," he said and she noticed that he was watching as she threaded the fat wriggling worm onto the hook.

"Not recently, no. But, well, having grown up in Aqualonde I certainly have some experience. I used to fish there often as a child with my grandparents. They would take my brothers and I out in their boats and we would fish to our heart's content. I remember it being very peaceful, one of the only times that I felt truly happy in Aman." But recalling those memories of Alqualonde did not yield happy reminiscence, rather, as sudden as a summer storm, she found her heart clutched tight in the grip of fear and the world went suddenly dark.

_'Help!' She had shouted to anyone and everyone. She clutched the handle of her spear and brought it tight against her, holding it as though it were a doll and she were a child and this was all some horrible nightmare that she would wake up from any moment. She did not know where her grandparents were or if they were safe._

_ There were tears pouring down her face and her heart was racing, panicked, for she had no idea what to do. And then she saw it, one of Feanor's soldiers grabbed up a young Teleri elfling, barely big enough to walk. The child was screaming, wailing, face red as an apple and the soldier seemed to panic, raising his sword to deal the blow. _

_ She did not know when she had moved or how but the next thing she recalled was that her spear was sunk clean to the hilt in the Noldo's stomach. There was fear in his eyes, fear and confusion. He dropped the child, struggling to breathe, for her blade had punched clear through his diaphragm, and then he crumpled, bleeding out his life on the sand before tumbling into the ocean in a plume of red. She stared down at her hands, trembling; she had killed, murdered. The fishing boats bobbed in the water._

"Galadriel?" She heard her suitor's concerned voice and everything swam into focus again. She rubbed at her forehead, willing the sharp pain there to dissipate. Celeborn's hand was on her shoulder and she turned to see worry in his green eyes where mirth had been only moments earlier.

"They're getting worse aren't they?" He asked her with concern. He was right. For a while at least, with Melian's help and with her thoughts continually preoccupied by the newness of her and Celeborn's courtship, it had seemed that they had dissipated for the most part. But recently they were returning, and with a pronounced potency, or so it seemed. She wondered, almost, if it was her increasing proximity to Celeborn that made it so, for even before their courtship it had been his presence that had driven her to have grave doubts and though love had been the antidote for a while it was love itself that seemed to now be hurrying that toxin through her veins ever more rapidly.

"They are," she replied, rubbing her forehead still. "My apologies," she was embarrassed now, despite how intimately he knew her…or rather, because of it, and she stood, thinking only that she wished nothing more than to flee - but to where? Her rooms had ceased to be hers except nominally, for she resided now in Celeborn's chambers. How was it that in the palace of a thousand caves there was not a single place where she might hide herself away?

"Stop, Artanis," he had caught her hand and was holding it in a strong grip now. His touch was warm and she could feel the many callouses from the bowstring. "I've told you before that you have nothing to be ashamed of and I will tell you again." She turned her head away, could not bear the sight of his eyes.

"Look at me," he implored her, and she turned reluctantly, breathing in deeply to calm herself. His eyes were green as the leaves, kind, comforting. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. It is not a defect, to have such visions. Do you understand?" His eyes were as kind and firm as his voice.

For an instant, the words seemed ready to tumble from her mouth, she would tell him all of it, everything. It would be out, and done with, and over. He would know and then…then there might be mercy. "I…" she began. Mercy…for one such as she, she a murderess, and having spoken of it she would be a betrayer twice over. Her lips fell shut.

"What is it?" He asked her.

"Nothing," she shook her head with a laugh. "It is nothing, just, I was being silly."

"I assure you," he said, "despite how I may tease you, I do not think you silly at all."

"I know," she grasped his hand, feigning a smile, and she was not sure that he believed it.

"Here," he said, "let me help you." She nodded and sat down next to him once more as he threaded his fingers through hers, grasping her hand comfortingly, but her breathing was still unsteady. He turned to face her, sitting cross-legged.

"Here, turn about, give me your hands," he said, and again she did as he asked as they began a ritual that they had already practiced many hundreds of times in their decade long courtship. He took her hands gently into his and they sat, knee to knee, hand in hand, and she raised her eyes to his.

He began to draw in deep breaths, holding them for a while before releasing them slowly and, as they continued, she began to feel peace come over her until she was completely calm. The bad memories vanished and she felt only the sunshine upon her face, the playful wind in her hair, and saw only the reassuring eyes of Celeborn.

"You have my thanks, as ever," She told him with a smile when she was finally calm and relaxed.

"It is no bother," he said with a smile, handing her her fishing pole and she set to work untangling her now tangled line while Celeborn recast his.

"Something about you calms me," she said.

"Well those are words I don't hear very often," he laughed and she stood to cast her line. As they sat back down, he opened his pouch, taking out a small pipe and a packet of pipeweed. She watched, grinning, as he stuffed the tobacco into the pipe, clenched it between his teeth, and lit it as he breathed in. He took a long draw before releasing a series of smoke rings and then offered it to her. Artanis reached for it with one hand and took a long draw too, but she found herself coughing instead of blowing smoke rings. Celeborn laughed and took the pipe back from her.

"First time?" He asked. She nodded.

"I liked it, I'm just not used to it is all," she said. "I did not know that you smoked."

"I don't, not usually," he said, "only when I am fishing or drunk." He took another long draw and this time released the smoke in a series of trees.

"Trees?" She asked, somewhat amazed.

"It's a natural gift. We're all born with it. Even Sindarin children can blow smoke in the shape of trees," he said, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Artanis, however, could not and burst out laughing.

"You and your tall tales! The only thing you Sindar can do is blow smoke up people's asses," she said. He laughed at that, handing the pipe back to her, and tried to teach her to blow smoke rings until the pipeweed was all used up. But she never managed to get the hang of it.

"Lazy fish today," he said, putting the pipe away. Artanis could not help but watch him covertly while he closed his eyes and, with a perfectly contented grin, let the wind play with his hair. She relished in knowing how handsome her suitor was and, even knowing that she might look upon him now whenever she wished, she gained some pleasure from watching him when he was unaware.

"So," she said, "what brought you down here today?"

"I came here to think," he said, eyes out on the water, still smiling.

"About what?" She asked.

"About you," he replied, turning to meet her eyes. It was the truth, though he gave her no reasons. He knew that she had sensed it of late, this change in him, just as he knew that was the very reason that she looked at him with uncertainty now.

"Is that so?" She asked. "What of me?" And she seemed nervous, but Celeborn shied away from his thoughts of a moment earlier. For they were having such a pleasant time and, although his heart burned to speak his mind, he could not find it in himself quite yet to ruin their happiness. And besides, what would her response be if he were to issue such an ultimatum, to demand that she speak? She might spurn him completely, turn him away entirely, be done with him and that, he did not know if his heart could endure _that._

"Oh! They're biting at last!" She cried jubilantly, rescuing him from the depths into which his heart had plunged. And Celeborn merely laughed before his line suddenly jerked and unexpectedly went taut, nearly pulling the pole out of his hands. He scrambled to catch it, only just managing to do so in the nick of time, before it was nearly pulled into the water. He began to pull in the fish that had bitten his hook and moved to squat by the edge of the river to pull it in the last few feet, pleasantly surprised by what he saw at the end.

"Come look!" He called, turning to her, laughing. "Tell me if you have these in Aman!" And, from the water, he pulled the most hideous fish she had ever seen. It had no scales but was instead covered with a greenish-black skin that appeared to be coated in slime and from its mouth protruded many long whisker-like appendages. It looked more like a worm to her than a fish.

"Come on," Celeborn urged with a broad grin, hefting the fish, which was roughly the size of a small elfling, into his arms where it thrashed wildly. Artanis approached with a great deal of trepidation and slowly reached out a hand to touch it. It was slimy after all and she quickly withdrew her hand with a grimace, causing Celeborn to laugh.

"This is a dwarf fish. There are bigger ones than this in these rivers," he said. "An interesting fish seeing as they can breathe out of water for many hours. They're quite good when fried up, though the meat is a bit watery."

"I don't know that I could bring myself to eat it," she said with a laugh. "It's so horrible looking, like an old dwarf."

"You'll hurt his feelings," Celeborn chided her.

"Fish don't have feelings," she insisted.

"Oh really?" He looked at the fish with pity. "She thinks you're ugly," he whispered to it and the fish, almost as if it understood him, turned to look at her with mournful eyes. Celeborn mimicked the look but was not quite able to disguise the mirth in his eyes, a product of teasing her.

"No!" She exclaimed quickly, though even as she did so she wondered why she should be apologizing to a fish. "He's not ugly, he's just unique!"

"I'll bet she uses that line on all the poor fellows," Celeborn whispered conspiratorially to the fish and it looked at him as though it had understood and was in on his plan, whatever that might be.

"I do not! I…oh…what?" She blurted out.

"Then," said Celeborn with a sly grin, holding the fish's face up beside his own, "which one of us would you rather kiss?"

"What?" She gasped, doubled over in laughter. Both he and the fish were mouthing idiotically at her now and she could not contain her mirth in the slightest. "The fish," she said with narrowed eyes, wanting so badly to annoy him. She should have known that he would make good on his threat.

"As you wish!" He replied and, to her horror, proffered the fish before her face. Artanis shrieked, leaping backwards. But, just as quickly as she could back away, he chased her with the wriggling fish.

"Celeborn stop!" She shrieked, yet she could not stop laughing, her ribs ached from it. She turned about to see the fish's hideous face but a hair's breadth from her own, held firmly in the grasp of the laughing Sinda and, in her distraction, tripped and, with a sizeable splash, plunged into the river.

"Whoa!" Celeborn dropped the fish into the river as his hands flew out. He hurried to fish his lady love out of the water but, before he could do so, a pair of hands emerged from the murky depths to grasp his collar and the next thing he knew, he too was submerged in the cool green water. He pushed his way to the surface, gasping as he emerged, wiping the water from his eyes to see Galadriel standing opposite him, red in the face from laughing so hard, her eyes sparkling a brilliant blue.

"I told you I would get you!" She cried jubilantly.

"I got you first!" He cried, charging towards her and grabbing her by the shoulders to duck her under again but, shrieking, she caught hold of him as well and, laughing, they pulled each other under, wrestling beneath the water until they pulled apart, holding hands, smiling with cheeks full of air, watching each other. Celeborn reached out and pressed his hands to her cheeks, forcing the air from them and they surfaced, gasping for breath, laughing, soaking wet.

Artanis's eyes were fixed upon Celeborn's now, green and full of joy, both of their chests still heaving from laughter. He moved his hands from her cheeks to cradle her head in his hands, grinning at her and she smiled back, still laughing as, slowly, he brushed his lips against hers. It was a sensation of which she thought she would never grow tired, especially as his kisses had been few and far between lately.

She closed her eyes, feeling his hot breath upon her lips and, as his arms moved to her waist, tightening about it, she kissed him back, cupping his face in her hands. After so long, their kisses were no longer those of inexperienced lovers, but were bold, aggressive, and it was not long before they clambered somewhat clumsily onto the bank where they might be in a more relaxed position in which to continue their endeavors.

"You know," Artanis began with a twinkle in her eye as they at last broke apart for air, "I have had many an offer of courtship, proper offers on bended knee with roses and jewels and pearls from the most respected nobility of Valinor," she said. "And though they sang my praises before the crowds and pleaded with honeyed words all of them failed to move me and I rejected each of them without thought. And you offered me not a single present yet I find that out of all of them only you were able to move my heart."

"I did get you a present but you did not like it," Celeborn replied with a laugh.

"You did not," she said.

"I offered you a fine specimen of dwarf fish, fresh caught from the Esgalduin, but it was not to your liking," he replied in mock earnestness.

Artanis laughed long and hard, her worries of earlier quite forgotten, and yet now, in this happy moment, it was Celeborn who brought them back upon her abruptly and, as ever, in the most disconcerting of manners.

"Thingol is concerned," he said. "For he perceives that a shadow hangs over you, as do I and he worries that I shall be caught up in whatever that may be."

"Why must you speak of this again now?" She asked him, sitting up. "We were having such a pleasant time." Why could he not be content to let things be? And why must he continually bring up this matter at the most inopportune times? She strongly suspected, though she said nothing of it, that the hardening of some things had the effect of seriously softening his inhibitions with his words.

"Because I love you!" He exclaimed, his face full of fierce conviction like a warrior preparing for battle. "I love you against my own conscience!" Only he could have said something so pleasing and so revolting in the same sentence and Artanis found that it left her feeling entirely unsure of how she ought to feel.

"Why must you say that now, when you are upset?" She asked, somewhat angered, surprised not at the sentiment, but that he said this now when in all these years he had never done so. Any other man would have said those words while speaking of happy things and gazing lovingly into his lover's eyes. Only Celeborn would say them while agitated and looking for all the world as if he planned to march in assault on Angbad itself. "Why can you not do things properly, as a lover ought?" She stood, crossing her arms over her chest and he stood too.

"I would have thought that it was apparent, that I need not say it," he said, his gaze fixed upon her own, his eyes troubled, his chest heaving with suppressed anger. "Surely you must know. Have my actions not spoken strongly enough? Words are so false, so untrustworthy." _That_ was something about his personality that irked her exceedingly, that ability to so accurately pinpoint what seemed to him a tiny thing but was to her one of those deeply disconcerting threads that wound its way throughout every aspect of her life, spreading like hairline fractures across glass. _Oh Celeborn, you do not know how very false my words are, _she thought, angry tears rising to her eyes.

"Yes…" she stammered, "I suppose that I knew that." Her anger did not permit her to say anything more without shedding a tear and now that he had agitated her pride she would not permit herself to cry. "I am sorry," she said to him, grudgingly. "For if I was at liberty to speak to you of it then I would yet, for the moment, I am obliged to keep that secret from even you, though it sits ill with my own conscience to do so."

And Celeborn looked at her with a mixture of emotion in his eyes, sadness being not the least of these and he spoke, saying: "I wished that you trusted me enough to speak of it."

But Artanis shook her golden head, her anger slowly dissipating as sadness filled the void it left behind and said, "It is not because I do not trust you that I cannot speak but for your own good that I stay my tongue. For if I were to tell you it would place you in an extraordinarily difficult position where your loyalty to your own people might be drawn into question, for people would wonder if you had known and if you had also withheld the secret out of affection for me. And, knowing the place that your realm holds in your heart, I could never bring myself to do such a thing to you. Nay, if I am to tell any then it must be Thingol whom I speak to first."

"Then I would beg you speak with him," Celeborn said, stroking her hair. His anger too had been forgotten, his touch was tender, his eyes sad. "For if I surmise correctly then perhaps withholding this secret is the reason behind the increasing trouble you are having with your visions, and it pains me to see you suffer so."

"I do not know," said Artanis, "for it is not my secret alone to share and there are a great many who would grow angry with me were I to tell Thingol. Indeed, it might turn the tide of the Noldor's loyalty against him and it could be that things would go very ill for Doriath thereafter."

"Yet still I would beg you to speak of it," Celeborn said. "For it is not our custom to keep important matters from the King and though I cannot peer into other's minds as you do, I can see enough to know that a dark secret withheld grows only darker with time. And I grow tired of my loyalties being continually divided between you and my kingdom."

"That may be true," Artanis told him, "and you have given me much reason for contemplation." Yet those words had not placated him as she hoped, rather the last coals of his dissipating anger had been inflamed once again and she could see the anger quicken in his eyes.

"Contemplation?" He grew exasperated, shaking his head and the words spilled forth now. He felt powerless to stop them. "What good has contemplation ever done anyone? Action, Galadriel, I need action!" He took up her hands, holding them tightly in his own. "I love you, madly! I would take you to wife in body this very day! I need no ceremony, only to say the vow and be joined! But how can we marry with this shadow hanging over us? Will you not say it? Will you not speak to Thingol so that your name, and the guilt you carry might be cleared…so that the path to marriage will lie open for us?" And Artanis's heart quelled within her for she knew not whether the doom of Mandos was confined to her or whether it might dig its roots deep into those associated with her as well and she feared that Celeborn might be brought unknowingly under its shadow.

And she trembled at his words in fear, for to join in body meant to join in mind as well and in that instant that they were bound he would know, he would know all of it. "No, Celeborn, it is an impossibility! Why must you ruin everything? Marriage and love ought to be spoken about during times of joy, not in the midst of an argument!" The words were out before she had been able to properly form them into something more eloquent and the hurt was already evident in his eyes.

"Is it so preposterous," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "that I would wish to marry you, the woman I love? And if so, then what business have we being together? If I have thrown away a decade of my life on you then you ought to come out and say it."

"I do not mean 'no, not ever,'" she implored him, rushing to heal the wound, grasping his hand tightly. "I love you, surely, you must know that. If I could wed you then I too would do so this day. And I will wed you if you wish, but when the time is right."

"Please," she stroked his face. "Have we ever quarreled over anything else? It is only this one thing. Can we not lay it to rest once and for all?"

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that I shall forever put my affection for you above that I bear towards my kingdom, for I would beg you recall my words and know that you cannot run forever from whatever it is that plagues you," Celeborn said, anger tight in his voice and she almost thought that she saw tears glimmering unspilled in his eyes.

"I promise you, I will think of something," she said. "It is only for a little while longer."

"I have trusted you all of this time," he said. "When we began our courtship I asked you for everything and you agreed, yet you have given me nothing more than delays and unfulfilled promises." His hands were trembling.

"Celeborn, have patience –" she began.

"You forget, Galadriel," he said standing, "I am not a patient man, and I have waited now nearly twelve years."

"Can you not see that you injure me with your words?" She cried in anguish.

"Can you not see that you injure me with your silence?" He shouted.

With that he was gone, yet his words haunted Artanis for days, then weeks, then months until long after they had reconciled. But their argument was not forgotten and the residual effects of it still weighed heavily upon them both. And for Artanis, as ever, the secret burdened her heart and try though she might, she could shake it, for it haunted her not only in visions and nightmares but now, even in her waking hours.

Thus she did not hear at first, Melian calling her name.

"Artanis…"

"Yes?" The lady's golden head snapped up and the queen laughed.

"I was only remarking upon how your cloth has changed," Melian said, running her fingers over it.

"Has it?" Artanis asked. Her hands had fallen idle but now she picked her shuttle up once more and began to pass it back and forth, back and forth as the loom whirred. The room was empty and quiet, not because she had awoken so early, but because she had stayed up so late. Already sunlight was beginning to filter down through the stone leaves above them and it fell softly upon her fabric. Yet, it did not reflect the light as it had before and instead absorbed it so that it glowed somewhat softly from within, but only when touched by the light. She still had not managed to make it absorb shadow but she had made considerable progress.

"Goodness, you really have been off in some wonderland of your own mind haven't you?" Melian said, her laugh like the chime of bells, and Artanis could not help but smile upon hearing it, though her thoughts had been grey.

"Yes, I suppose that it has changed," she said with a smile.

"The influence of my nephew perhaps?" Melian said with a small smile as she grasped Artanis's hand, stopping the movement of the shuttle. Her stormy azure eyes turned to the Noldo maid's and Artanis felt the familiar pressure on her mind. But she had grown and Melian was not as easily able to see her thoughts as she used to. Artanis grinned as the queen was forced to withdraw, laughing as she did so.

"Melian that is private!" Artanis said with a blush. "I assure you, you would not wish to see it."

"You are quite fond of him," the Queen said with a smile, returning to her own loom at Artanis's side and taking up her shuttle once more.

"Yes," Artanis replied, but her pause before she had given answer caused Melian to favor her with a questioning glance.

"You are more than fond of him then," the queen said gently. "Is your heart confused Artanis?" How easily the Maia had discerned her troubles and Artanis's hands trembled.

"I…I believe that I…love him," she blurted out, slamming her shuttle down upon the loom rather more loudly than she had intended, her hands clasped in her lap, breathing hard. There. It was out now.

"Oh?" Melian paused, gently, setting her own shuttle down and she stood, coming around to sit beside Artanis. There was something in her tone that was so motherly it almost reminded Artanis of Earwen and she reminded herself that Melian was, after all, a mother as well. She felt the gentle touch of the queen's hand upon her arm. "Surely that is nothing to be sad over," she began to say but the words began to tumble from Artanis's mouth now and she seemed entirely powerless to stop them.

"Yet I have not yet spoken those words to him, though he has spoken them to me! I knew it would never be a mere dalliance, he and I, but…I didn't expect, oh," she sighed dejectedly, feeling for all the world as though she wished to cry like a child, "I am not sure what I expected at all."

And after a little while had passed Melian spoke, saying, "how truly it is said that the light of the two trees is intertwined in your hair," with deft hands she wove the strands into an intricate braid while Artanis sat still. "I can remember them with such depth and detail when I look at you my sunlight child. Truly, it brings such joy to my heart." And Artanis smiled at the queen's words, for they had lightened her heart a bit.

"What should I do?" She asked the queen. Melian laughed in reply.

"Well," she said, continuing to plait Artanis's golden hair, "that is up to you, and depends upon what you want. Do you not wish Celeborn to know that you love him?"

"I do," Artanis replied, "but…I worry that…I do not want him to have loved me in vain. For lately he speaks of marriage but… how can I? I can't…I can't imagine it, a husband, a family, elflings…" The thought had long haunted her, that perhaps she who had been marred by death would not be able to bear life. _Yet_, she comforted herself, _there are female march wardens who bear children._

"Do you not think that you deserve happiness?" Melian asked, her voice suddenly growing tense. She dropped the heavy braid against Artanis's back. "Artanis," she turned so that she could look into the Noldo's eyes and Artanis saw that the queen was concerned. "You need not listen to the woeful words and decrees of your kinsmen Artanis," Melian implored her. "There is happiness enough for you here if only you will embrace it. If you and Celeborn wish to marry then you can certainly depend on the support of Thingol and I."

"It is," Artanis said, "that I fear I will ruin Celeborn's happiness, or else that I have already ruined it. It would have been better for him if he had never loved me." She had been so troubled that she had spoken further than she had intended regarding the secret she bore but now she found that she could not retreat, or else did not wish to do so. And Melian looked at her quizzically in light of those cryptic words but Artanis wondered if she had finally found the courage to say it. Her heart hammered within her chest, almost as if it were fighting its way out, just as the secrets were.

"There is some woe that lies upon you and your kin," Melian said, her voice deep and urgent. "That I can see in you, but all else is hidden from me; for by no vision or thought can I perceive anything that passed or passes in the West; a shadow lies over all the land of Aman, and reaches far out over the sea. Why will you not tell me more? Will you not free yourself? Not even now that love lies within your grasp?"

"That woe is past," said Artanis; "and I would take what joy is here left, untroubled by memory. And maybe there is woe enough yet to come, though still hope may seem bright." For still she was unsure, unsteady, and she worried what her brothers would think, what her cousins might do.

"I believe not that the Noldor came forth as messengers of the Valar, as was said at first: not though they came in the very hour of our need," Melian said, her gaze penetrating and intense, her grip on Artanis's hands tighter than was comfortable. "For they speak never of the Valar, nor have their high lords brought any message to Thingol, whether from Manwe, or Ulmo, or even from Olwe the King's brother, and his folk that went over the sea. For what cause, Artanis, were the high people of the Noldor driven forth as exiles from Aman? Or what evil lies on the sons of Feanor that they are so haughty and so fell? Do I not strike near the truth?"

And Artanis could feel Melian's mind working upon her own. A moment had presented itself, a moment which she might take advantage of here when there was no one, not her brothers nor her cousins, nor anyone else to control what she might say and might not say. But dare she do it? Finrod's words echoed in her mind, _her…visions…they are getting worse, far worse. Hardly a day goes by anymore when she does not collapse, convulsing. How can we trust her when she could so easily and accidentally betray us?_ Yet stronger, she found, than her brother's worries and the threats of her cousins was the desire that was growing in her own heart, that hope that Melian had reminded her of, that she might marry Celeborn and be happy here. She had decided.

"Near," she said, hardly able to believe her own audacity, "save that we were not driven forth, but came of our own will, and against that of the Valar. And through great peril and in despite of the Valar for this purpose we came: to take vengeance upon Morgoth, and regain what he stole," and though her heart trembled at the words that she spoke, she felt immediately that a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders for long had she struggled in her own mind over the lies and half truths that she and her brothers had told the Sindar and, now that she found that she had approached the precipice, she could not willingly return from whence she had came but, instead, felt compelled to tell the truth, not only to relieve her own burden of guilt, but because the Sindar had the right to know and she would no longer willingly betray her friends and much less would she willingly betray her lover.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, for still she felt great anxiety at the story she meant to impart, and she said, "Very well, many times have you spoken to me on this matter and many times I have denied you the truth but I find that I am no longer able to do so and if it please you then I shall tell you the entire tale." Yet despite what she had said, her heart was still beating like a drum and she wondered if she would be able to find the courage after all or if it would desert her.

"You will speak at last?" Melian asked, her voice gentle, for she could very well see with what trepidation the Noldorin girl spoke and she half feared that Artanis would fall silent once more and refuse to speak.

"Yes," Artanis said, her heart pounding now, her breath coming in gasps. "Yes, I will speak. I will speak." She raised her eyes to the queen's, imploring her. "But I beg you Melian, bring Thingol and Celeborn quickly, before I lose my courage, for already it is fading."

"Of course," Melian said before darting out into the corridor. She returned momentarily, having sent a messenger to the king and prince, and sat with Artanis, holding her hands in her own while they waited for what seemed to be an interminably long while.

And, whatever doubts she may have had about speaking were swept away by the entrance of Thingol for the first words out of his mouth were, "you will speak." And it was a command, not a question, given in such a tone of authority that it might have given Morgoth himself pause.

Melian tugged gently on Artanis's hand and the two of them moved to sit on a bench across from where Thingol had seated himself. Momentarily, Celeborn entered as well and Artanis found herself quite unable to meet his gaze, though it settled upon her briefly, and he moved to sit beside the king. Better to get it over and done with, Artanis thought, now that it had been decided. She drew in a shuddering breath to steady her nerves but it was Thingol who spoke first and his words were not what she would have expected.

"I am glad," he said, "that you have at last come to this decision Artanis. For I would hope that you, who are blood of my brother's blood, know that I love and esteem you as my own daughter, though long have you hidden this secret from me. But how am I to protect my people if I cannot understand what I am protecting them from? And I worry for your sake as well, for I have watched you blossom here as a new flower in spring, and I grew concerned at the frost that seemed to be wilting you. I assure you that you shall feel better after you have spoken. For secrets weigh most heavily not upon those for whose sake they are kept, or on those who are denied their knowledge, but upon those who keep them."

Artanis nodded and swallowed, her throat feeling like sand, and looked up into the King's kind eyes.

"While I was in conversation with Melian this evening I realized that I could no longer in good conscience withhold what I know any longer. It is precisely because you welcomed me so kindly and because of the love that your people have shown to me that I have at last reached this conclusion, though it is belatedly that I have done so and for that I most humbly beg your forgiveness," she managed to choke out and Thingol nodded solemnly.

"That is well," he said. "And all of us here are made happy by your decision."

"Yes," Artanis said, nodding. "I want you to be happy, though I do not know..." And she glanced towards Celeborn, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, but she could discern nothing in their depths.

"Finwe is dead," she blurted out. She had not known where to start and, for some reason, that had seemed to be the thing of most importance, the thing that had surfaced first in her mind. There was a collective intake of breath by the three of them that made the silence that followed her words all the more apparent, and she felt Melian's hand tighten upon her own, so tight that she thought the bones might break and she watched as Thingol, clearly stricken, tilted his head up towards the ceiling, blinking back tears. Celeborn merely glanced wildly between his aunt, his uncle, and Artanis herself, unsure, it seemed, of what exactly such news might signify.

Thingol propped his elbows on his knees and his head sank down into his hands so that his face was concealed for a while but his shoulders trembled and, at last, he looked up at her with confused, red-rimmed eyes and asked, "how?" It was strange indeed to hear that normally firm voice so shaded with doubt.

"It was Morgoth," she said, "Melkor. He…the Valar trusted him, and when they unchained him…"

"What cause would he have to kill my friend?" Thingol shouted, a strangled cry, his sadness being supplanted by anger. "What grudge did he hold against Finwe?"

"Melkor needs no reason for evil," Melian said hurriedly to placate her spouse, for Thingol looked now as though he wished to either scream in anger or cry in sorrow and there was no telling which course of action he would embark upon for he likely did not know himself how to feel or what to do, Artanis certainly hadn't when she had first heard the news.

"There…there was a reason," Artanis stammered. "And that is why the Feanorians are so fell. It was my uncle, Feanor, Finwe's son, the high prince of the Noldor. He made something that Morgoth wanted, the Silmarils, and Morgoth was determined to have them at whatever cost. And it is the existence of the Silmarils that I have heretofore hidden."

"And is that why Finwe lost his life?" Thingol cried, incensed. "How could these…these Silmarils as you call them, have been so precious that his life was valued the lesser?"

"There is nothing that Melkor esteems," Artanis said, her own heart troubled now at having been given cause to recall her grandfather's death. "Not life nor anything else, save his own power. For the Silmarils are gems, three in number, that Feanor created and imbued with the light of the two trees. They were hallowed by Varda herself, so that they burn the hands of any mortal or evil creature, or of any who are unworthy of their possession and yet all who looked upon them desired them, so magnificent were they. And their method of manufacture was so secret that even Aule himself was unable to reproduce their likeness." Melian, Thingol, and Celeborn were all listening intently now and so she continued her story without stopping, though she could already feel that it was exhausting her.

"Melkor, perhaps viewing Feanor's paranoia as an opportunity, began to spread rumors that Fingolfin meant to usurp Feanor's place as Finwe's heir. And my father grew very frightened at this, for he knew that his eldest brother had a quick temper and moreover, that he had grown paranoid that someone might try to steal his Silmarils, for many had grown extraordinarily covetous of them. So my father closeted my family at our estate in Tirion and my brothers and I were hardly able to come and go, certainly not as we pleased, and prohibited from having any contact with our cousins, the sons of Feanor.

Hearing the rumors that Melkor had spread, Feanor grew enraged and threatened Fingolfin's life. Thus were the seeds of discord that had been sown long ago by Miriel's passing, for which Feanor has never forgiven her, and my grandfather's marriage to Indis, for which my uncle never did forgive my grandfather, fanned into full flame and the Noldor began to craft weapons, anticipating that there would be some battle between the supporters of Feanor and the supporters of Fingolfin. But the Valar grew wroth at Feanor for his pride and his anger and thus they banished him to Formenos and Finwe followed him to show his support for his eldest son. With them they took the Silmarils, locked in a chest and under heavy guard."

"At this my mother grew very frightened and begged my father to withdraw our household to Alqualonde and there seek refuge with our Telerin family where we might be out of the way of whatever trouble my father's older brothers might cause. But my father, perhaps having some sense of foreboding about what was to come and how his people would require him in that hour of need, decided that we would remain in Tirion, though we lived nearly as shut ins there, prisoners in our own house."

"With Feanor and Finwe both having withdrawn to Formenos, Fingolfin was named king in absentia, with the support of my father and of the Telerin royalty, my mother's family. But this seemed only to confirm Feanor's suspicions about his brothers and he grew very fell for a while, seeming to trust no one, or so we heard, and perhaps it was that distrust that saved him from Melkor's designs, for the Vala approached Feanor in Formenos, seeking to further convince him of Fingolfin's ill intentions, yet this time Feanor saw through Melkor's plans and perceived the truth of them, that Melkor's true intention was to obtain the Silmarils for himself. Having realized this, he accepted the Valar's invitation to make peace with Fingolfin and returned to Valinor, whereupon Fingolfin conceded the position of crown prince to Feanor, who accepted."

"But, after Feanor had turned Melkor out, and while he traveled to Valinor to make his peace, Melkor had fled south to seek out Ungoliant, the great spider and, even as Feanor and Fingolfin shook hands and made their peace, the light was suddenly gone from the sky and night came upon us all at once, as though the light of the two trees had been entirely extinguished and, as you know, and as we later found out, that was precisely what had happened, for Ungoliant had sucked them dry of sap. The Valar then begged Feanor to surrender to them the Silmarils, so that they might revive the trees from the light encased within them. But he refused and, we soon found that it would not have mattered at all if he hadn't done so, for while we were all distracted over the destruction of the trees, Melkor and Ungoliant had gone to Formenos, and word soon arrived that they had slain Finwe, my grandfather, as he sought to deny them entrance to the chamber where the Silmarils were kept. They then stole the Silmarils and fled across the Helcaraxe."

"I beg you," Thingol said, "pause for a moment and allow me to collect myself and my thoughts. For this is the darkest news that I have ever had the misfortune to hear." And Artanis fell silent, glad for the reprieve, for she had never told the tale before and doing so, she found, exhausted her beyond measure. For not only was she sorrowful to break this news to her most beloved friends, but it was painful for her to recall her grandfather's death, the sundering of her family, and that time of great fear and uncertainty.

Hesitantly Artanis looked towards Celeborn, hoping to judge his reaction, fearing that his heart would be turned against her and, truthfully, in her heart of hearts she knew that it was not only because she had been forbidden to tell, but because she had feared losing Celeborn's love that she had staid her tongue this long. His eyes flickered towards hers and she had feared seeing anger there, for he was quick with that emotion, but instead she found that she could read nothing in his eyes, though there was certainly no hatred and for that, at least, she was grateful.

After some time, Thingol leaned forward once more, composed now, though there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and resting his elbows on his knees, he bade her continue. Beginning again she said, "After Melkor fled, all of my people named him Morgoth, which means dark enemy of the world in our tongue."

"Determined to retake the Silmarils, the Noldor assembled a great host, of which my brothers and I took part, though my motivation was more of a longing to see this land than to reclaim the jewels and Finrod was the most reluctant of us all, and so we left Valinor determined to undo Morgoth at last."

"Yet I had no love for Feanor, for I resented the divisions that he had created within my family. And, what was more, he had, in the past, made several overtures to me that I deemed less than appropriate given our close degree of consanguinity and the fact that he was married. Furthermore, after Morgoth had stolen the Silmarils, he levied a great deal of blame for the loss of the Silmarils upon the Valar themselves and he railed against them, persuading many of the Noldor that the Valar had abandoned them and that they must avenge the wrongs done them by Melkor by their own hands. But, as I have said, I had no love for Feanor and did not hold with his beliefs and so I traveled in the host of Fingolfin, son of Finwe, whose members included Turgon and Fingon as well as my brothers, and Feanor's host marched ahead."

She paused, for now she had come to the real moment of truth and, whether because of the immense emotional toll that the story had already taken on her, or because she was steadily loosing her courage, or because the greater part of her fear of the loss of their love lay not in relating what others had done, but in relating her own part in the sins of the Noldor, she found that she could not bring herself to relate the rest of the tale.

"There were …many women and children with us and so we could not move as fast as the Feanorians," she said instead. "By the time that we reached Alqualonde, the last ship had already sailed, leaving us with no other way to continue except to cross the Helcaraxe. Thus we knew that Feanor and his sons had not entirely forgiven his brothers or their children and the wounds that existed between the princes of the Noldor were reopened and have not yet healed; perhaps they never shall." It was out, finished, part of it the truth, part of it a wretched lie.

"Now you know," she said, "the true motivations of the sons of Feanor, that they are bent upon avenging the theft of the Silmarils with all their being and will. And you know also of Finwe's death and of the true source of discord between the Noldorin princes." Having said that, she fell silent, exhausted, and it seemed that the others gathered there had grown just as tired from the listening as she had from the telling. Already the guilt was beginning to sink in once more, though she did feel some measure of relief, as if part of the burden, at least, was gone, though the greater part remained.

Thingol sighed, shaking his head, looking wearier in that unspeaking silence that she had ever seen him and at last he spoke, saying; "your father remained behind?"

"Yes," she said. "For my brothers were determined to go out of their friendship with the sons of Fingolfin and I was determined to go out of my wish to explore this land and so my father remained behind so that my mother would not lose her entire family at once and so that the Noldor would not be left kingless."

"So your father is the High King of the Noldor now," Thingol said softly.

"In Aman, yes," she replied, releasing a shuddering breath.

"That is well," Thingol said, "for he sounds as though he is a wise man, wiser than his brothers at least, wiser even than Finwe perhpas."

"He is," she replied.

"And you have done an extraordinarily cruel thing to your parents by leaving them, you and all of your brothers," Thingol said tersely. Artanis averted her eyes out of shame and no one spoke in the ensuing silence. Then did they all sit in unspeaking silence for a long while, contemplating all that she had said until Thingol, bid them leave and she and Celeborn walked back to his chambers hand in hand, though they did not speak to one another.

"Still he loves her," Thingol said, watching them go. "And I know not whether he has spoken of it to her in those words, but love it is, and it could be called no other."

"Indeed that is so," Melian replied. "They go now, almost certainly to quarrel in private, yet you know Celeborn even as I do, like a son, and you know that when he has given his heart to something that he has given it without reservation, in its entirety. He could no sooner be turned from Artanis than a hurricane could be turned from its path and, indeed, he shall not be turned from it unless it was by her own hand and it would take a far greater betrayal even than this to accomplish that feat."

"And as much as I wish them the greatest of joy I fear that theirs is an ill fated love that can end in none other than doom," Thingol said sorrowfully, "for the news that we have learned is evil indeed and yet…it still seems to me that parts of this story are missing and there is still some guilt or darkness that hangs over Artanis. I find that my regard for her is greatly lessened."

"This is a great matter," Melian said, "greater indeed than the Noldor themselves understand; for the Light of Aman and the fate of Arda lie locked now in these things, the work of Feanor, who is gone. They shall not be recovered, these Silmarils, I foretell, by any power of the Eldar; and the world shall be broken in battles that are to come, ere they are wrested from Morgoth. See now! Feanor they have slain, and many another, as I guess; but first of all the deaths they have brought and yet shall bring was Finwe your friend. Morgoth slew him, ere he fled Aman. And now we live in the shadow of death."

And, hearing the words again, Thingol was silent, for he was filled with great foreboding and at length he said: "Now at last I understand the coming of the Noldor out of the West, at which I wondered much before. Not to our aid did they come, save by chance; for those that remain in Middle-earth the Valar will leave to their own devices, until the uttermost need. For vengeance and redress of their loss the Noldor came. Yet all the more sure shall they be as allies against Morgoth, with whom it is not now to be thought that they shall ever make treaty."

But Melian said: "Truly for these causes they came; but for others also. Beware the sons of Feanor! The shadow of the wrath of the Valar lies upon them; and they have done evil, I perceive, both in Aman and to their own kin. A grief but lulled to sleep lies between the princes of the Noldor."

"What is that to me?" Thingol answered her. "Of Feanor I have heard but report, which makes him great indeed. Of his sons I hear little to my pleasure; yet they are likely to prove the deadliest foes of our foe."

"Their swords and their counsels shall have two edges," said Melian.

Celeborn's chambers were silent and they remained silent even after he and Galadriel had returned to them, for it was a while before either had the energy or the courage to speak. Celeborn sat for a long while, simply staring into the fire and, after some time, Artanis moved to sit at his side.

Her conscience weighed heavily upon her for she had not told the entire tale and still Thingol was ignorant, they were all ignorant of the oath and of the doom of Mandos and of the fact that the Feanorians would not hesitate to kill other elves. Until Thingol knew that, they were all still very much in danger. Yet how could she tell that tale? Even Morgoth's destruction of the trees was not as dark and bloody a crime as what Feanor had done to the Teleri, what she had done to her father's kin. She rubbed her hands together absentmindedly and turned to look at Celeborn. He was watching her intently with those green eyes that she loved so much. But his eyes did not look as they always did - something had changed.

"You are upset with me," She said, reaching out, but he turned away from her hand. "It is…what I deserve." She did not need to prompt him any further to speak.

"Perhaps Thingol did not ask because he is consumed by grief at the news of his friend's death but I have no such compunctions," he said, standing and pacing back and forth, hand to his chin. "What did it profit you to keep such a secret? You are guilty of nothing save secrecy. Why could you not tell us of the Silmarils?" His actions were quick, fueled by anxiety and, as usual, he had hit frighteningly close to the mark for she had concealed her part of the blame.

"Because my cousins do not wish Thingol to know," she said. "They made us swear an oath of secrecy, and I swore out of love for Finrod, because he wished to salvage what remains of the house of Finwe." She hated to say it, knowing that it was such a terribly inconsiderate thing to say, but it was the truth.

"But why did your lot have any need to keep the secret of the Silmarils, even if the Feanorians wished it? What harm could they do you that would force you swear an oath against your conscience?"

"Celeborn," she stood, her voice firm and her eyes firmer, going to him and taking his arm, stilling his pacing. "You do not know them as I do. The sons of Feanor have gone mad! Maglor is kind of heart and Maedhros can be made to see reason, but the rest of them are very dangerous indeed and there is no boundary that I believe they would hesitate to cross." Her beloved looked into her eyes and her heart pounded in fear, for she saw him working the problem over in his mind.

"Nothing?" He murmered. She nodded.

"If ever a Silmaril were to enter into Doriath…" she said, "I would fear very much for the safety of everyone here. Feanor went mad before the end and it seems his madness did not die with him. I am frightened; they frighten me!"

"Still, you could have broken with the decision of your brothers, with the oath of secrecy. Part of the blame is yours," he said, his eyes flashing quickly towards hers. "How could you look my uncle in the eyes and lie to him about his dearest friend being alive for so many years when in fact he had perished? How could you do that?" There was incredulity in his voice, anger, hurt. "Thingol is the only father I have ever known!"

"And Finwe was my grandfather!" She cried. "Do you think that it did not pain me as well?"

He turned towards her, still agitated saying, "I thought your loyalty lay here, with Doriath, with Thingol, with me, was I wrong?" She had never seen him so upset.

"It does, Celeborn! I swear it to you," she replied. It was the truth. "After what I have just told you, after the anger that I will undoubtedly face from my relatives, do you still doubt me? They will slander me. I will never be welcomed by my cousins, any of them, ever again, and I will have injured the trust of my brothers most cruelly." It hurt her to see him so upset, to know that she was the cause of his pain, and she wished that she could go back in time and fix all of it. But, more than that, she feared that his love towards her would warp to hatred and she sought only to placate him by disguising her deception, for she knew full well that there was much that she still kept secret and she hid it in a desperate bid to keep him. "All of this I am willing to endure for you!"

"You endangered the lives of my people. You endangered this kingdom," he said, his anger still contained, but his eyes were fierce.

"Celeborn, meleth nin," she said and he seemed to flinch at her use of his name, "I did not make the right choice. I know that. But I cannot change what I have done. Thingol knows all of it now. The only thing I can do is to move forward." The long silence stretched between them and he said nothing, staring blankly into the fire.

"Feanor," he said, grinding out the name between his teeth as he crossed his arms over his chest. She had been expecting this, had seen the flash of fury in his eyes when she had spoken of it earlier. "You said that he made overtures towards you, inappropriate ones."

"When he…" she sighed and sank down to sit upon the cushions on the floor, feeling the weariness down to her bones. "When he had the idea to craft the Silmarils he did not originally plan to use the light of the trees as their essence…he…he asked me for three strands of my hair, and this he meant to encase at their core. Thrice he asked me…and thrice I did refuse him. It was a slight he never forgave." She dropped her eyes in shame, for she had suspected that Feanor had wished for more than her hair, and the thought reviled her.

Celeborn turned away from the fire and towards her. "You never told me that he…that he was inappropriate towards you," he said and his voice was soft, his anger slowly ebbing, replaced, it seemed, by concern. "What…did he…touch…"

"Not like that, no," she shook her head and laughed a bitter laugh, reaching up to wipe away tears that threatened to spill. Perhaps she had never acknowledged, even to herself, how much it had affected her. "He…" she shrugged, "it was something in the way he looked at me, the way that he touched me unbidden, even though it was always in the most innocuous of places: the hand, or the elbow, or the shoulder. It was the fact that his touch always lingered just a little longer than it ought to have, that his gaze strayed too frequently, that he contrived to find himself alone with me more often than I deemed natural." She sighed.

"I know that he loved Nerdanel, that he was married, and that he was my uncle besides, but with me it did not seem to be about love at all, or any affection really…it was, almost as if I was to him as his Silmarils were, that I was an instrument to please him, to magnify his glory, and that he meant to confine me for himself alone, just as he locked the Silmarils away so that only he could ever have them. And I doubted not at all that, if I ever gave him the chance…the chance to…to take more than what was appropriate, that he would have done it in a heartbeat."

She had never seen Celeborn with a look of pity upon his face but she was certain that she saw it now. "Galadriel," he breathed, "you have endured all of this in solitude…for so very long. You were so reticent, so frightened of intimacy when first we met and I did not know the reason. You could have told me."

"No…I…" she stammered, unsure of what it was that she was trying to say, the tears beginning to fall. He had drawn truth out of her, certainly, but she had not expected it to be this truth. It was the first time that she had ever felt truly weak before him. Celeborn knelt before her and wiped the tears away. "I thought that you would find me disgusting because of it," she said, "and…and I thought myself hideous because of it. And that on top of all of the terrible things I have done, how I have abandoned my parents, how I traipsed off foolishly into middle earth."

"Is that what this secret keeping was all about?" Celeborn asked, drawing her into his embrace, pressing her head into his chest. There was something so very comforting about his arms around her, about his hand in her hair, the kiss he placed on the top of her head. "Were you afraid what I would think of you?"

"Of course I was," she said, drying her eyes on his tunic.

"There now," he said, gently and it was a strange but welcome thing to hear gentleness from him. "You were put in a terrible situation not of you own doing," he said, "I do not know what I would have done had I stood in the same position." And she knew she had been forgiven.

"It is over and done; I know now and I love you," he said.

"And I love you," she replied, feeling the warmth of the fire's heat against her closed eyelids, hearing its crackling in the comforting silence. He rose, carrying her to the bed and she watched, sleepily, through half-lidded eyes as he tucked the blankets about her and then joined her himself.


	11. Chapter 11: Children of the Stars

**Children of the Stars**

Doriath: 11th Chapter

* * *

><p>"Fear both the heat and the cold of your heart,<p>

and try to have patience, if you can."

_-J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales_

* * *

><p>Author's note: Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! And also thank you to everyone who is reading! When I first started posting this story I thought that it was so long that no one would ever read it. But I really had a vision of what I wanted it to be and I very much wanted to write a complex story. I'm so happy that you all are enjoying it.<p>

BeSpotted and Furionknight: I hope I didn't keep you guys in suspense for too long!

Oleanne: I was beginning to miss you! You always ask such intriguing questions. One of the really hard things about writing this story is that I know where I want the characters to end up but I have to constantly remind myself that they're not there yet. I think that something we all grow into in our lives is realizing how we affect people and learning that our actions and words can have a bigger impact than we realize or anticipate. That is something I really wanted for Galadriel in this story. Right now she is sort of stuck in this mindset of 'oh Celeborn doesn't like me keeping secrets' and 'oh Finrod doesn't like my visions' but she never really stops and considers why that is and even though Celeborn sometimes gets very blunt with her about it she doesn't seem to get it because she doesn't really believe or understand yet that, yes, the things she does really do hurt people and, yes, her actions do have permanent and lasting consequences. Part of that is because she doesn't realize, or want to realize, how powerful she truly is because that would mean taking responsibility for things she doesn't want to face. Tolkien describes young Galadriel as very prideful and, to me, pride isn't really thinking you are better than somebody else so much as it is something akin to what I have described. For Celeborn, this is really frustrating because he lives in a world where his choices as a military commander and as a prince, and Thingol's choices as a king, often have life and death consequences. He feels a good deal of guilt over that (as we'll explore in Chapter 16) and it's one of the reasons he is so obsessive over the issue with the dwarves.

* * *

><p>"Thingol would be a wiser king if he would but heed Melian's advice a little more often," Celeborn said with a laugh as he walked with Artanis's arm in his. "Even on such small matters. Still, I am almost glad that he did not listen, if only because I had the delight of seeing the look of consternation on his face as that old horse dumped him flat on his rear."<p>

"Well who was to know the horse was lame if it did not limp?" Artanis replied with a laugh.

"Melian knew," the Sinda replied.

"Your poor auntie. For all her foresight her husband still refuses to listen. Fie! That is the way of all of you male folk. My father, as well, would be all the better if he would just lend an ear to my mother but a little more often."

"Never fear, daughter of Earwen, for I swear that I shall forever lend an ear to your advice, even when I find it is not to my liking," Celeborn replied in mock-seriousness, though she knew that he meant what he said.

"Forever?" Artanis asked, raising a golden brow. "Still planning a wedding are you? What makes you so sure that I would agree?" It was a topic he still had not dropped, but one with which she was gradually becoming more comfortable.

"Perhaps it is the thirteen years in which you have passed every day in my bed, and the fact that, when the sun dawns, you will return there this night as well, Galadriel."

"For the sake of the Valar!" She slapped his arm. "I certainly shall not marry you if you keep calling me _that_."

"Ah, I had hoped it would grow on you," Celeborn said with a mischievous grin. At this point, Artanis had trouble telling whether he used the name because he liked it or precisely because he knew that she did not like it and wished to tease her. "Then if you won't be a lady of light, come with me," he growled, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up, swinging her about in a circle, "and marry me, and let me transform you into a creature of the night!" Artanis laughed, swatting at him until he put her down.

"I don't know that I will ever adjust to your nocturnal ways," she laughed. Even after all of these years in Menegroth I often find myself weary in the evenings while it seems that you find yourself weary in the mornings."

"Are you weary now?" He queried.

"No, not at all." She replied.

"Good; I have plans for you later," he growled in her ear.

"Watch your tongue. There are elflings about, Celeborn." She said with a smile. They stopped by the river, where the aforementioned elflings were folding paper into boats and floating them, laden with candles, down the river. Colorful lanterns floated through the air, buoyed up by the gasses from the burning candles within them. Celeborn stood, watching the lanterns rise. The festival of the stars was one of his favorite nights of the year.

"Unlike light, darkness has no source," He said, lighting one of the candles, "it is merely the absence of light. But light is not the absence of darkness, for it is still there, even if it cannot be perceived." They bent down and he showed her how to make the paper boats, strong agile hands guiding her small nimble ones. He watched as she lit her candle, the flickering of the small flame illuminating her beauty. Together they set the boat in the water and watched it float down the stream.

"What was it like, before the sun and the moon?" She asked as they continued to walk along the bank, watching the boats.

"It was peaceful, quiet." He said. "I used to just lay under the stars and marvel at them, wondering how far away they are and what they are made of. Imagining that I could build a ship and that I would float up into the air, voyage to the stars and that, perhaps, I would discover entirely new worlds there full of marvelous things."

"You were never afraid of the dark?" She asked.

"Not at all," he said with a smile, nearly broaching the topic of his fear for the day, but he dismissed it as childish and worried that she would think it ignorant, and so he remained silent

"I used to be frightened of the night when I was a child," she said, "even though we had the light of Telperion. I would imagine that there were monsters hiding beneath my bed and my Adar would have to comfort me. Once my mother even gave me one of her old perfume bottles filled with water and told me it was 'monster spray'. Child that I was, I used it religiously every night. Something Finrod will never let me live down." Celeborn laughed.

"I cannot imagine you afraid of such a thing." He said. "What is it like there, in Valinor?" He asked. "You hardly ever speak of it and yet I have always wondered for, if Thingol hadn't gone and gotten himself lost in the forest then I might very well have been born in Aman myself."

"It is beautiful, I suppose." She said, but did not elaborate. The familiar feeling of guilt began to creep into her conscience. She was deceiving him, deceiving all of them, and she suddenly felt as though she wanted to shrink until she was the size of an ant and crawl away to someplace where she might hide. The silence grew long and Celeborn sensed her discontent, yet he had the good grace and tact not to inquire as to its source and, instead, bent down to show her a large lavender flower, globelike in appearance, that seemed to shine with a pale silver light from within.

"Moon lilies." He said. "They only bloom at this time of year, one of the reasons that summer nights like this are my favorite." He lay down in the grass amongst the lilies and she lay down beside him, watching the myriad lanterns floating in the sky and the twinkling of the stars, far beyond. She could gradually feel her disquiet creep away until it seemed as distant as the stars themselves.

"There," he said, pointing at a bright spray of stars. "The great wave of Balar."

"What?"

"You don't know them?" Celeborn asked.

"Know what?"

"The constellations," he said. "Here give me your hand." And, taking her hand in his he traced the shape of a wave, outlined by stars in the sky. "That is the great wave of Balar. Can you see it now?"

"Yes." She said.

"And riding that wave is Ulmo, Lord of Waters." He traced the shape of the Valar with her fingers and she imagined the bright lines forming in the sky, a painting of stars.

"What is that bright red one?" She asked, moving their hands to point at the star.

"That is the topmost star in the left antler of the white stag." He said, tracing the entire body of the animal, then moving to its right and tracing a new shape. "What do you think that is?" He asked.

"Wait, show me again." She said, and he traced the outline again. "A… a bow. It's a bow."

"Very good. And, what is this one?" He traced a more complicated shape now and Artanis creased her brow in concentration.

"Someone holding the bow…hunting the stag… it must be Orome."

"You are a natural." He said, turning to look at her, still holding her hand.

"Come with me. I have other things to show you." He stood, pulling her up with

him and they walked through the playing elflings towards the main area of the fair, the sound of flutes drifting on the wind. "This is one of the occasions when our brethren, the Avari, and the green elves elves come to Menegroth, so there may be a great many things that will interest you." He said.

Indeed, the wares peddled at the Moon Festival were a wonder entirely new to Artanis. It caused her to recall the way that she had felt as a child when, clinging to her mother's hand, she had been led through a house of wonders which one of her mother's very distant cousins, a rather eccentric fellow, had put on display. Earwen had laughed boldly at the strange creatures assembled there: birds of bright colors, great cats, elegant and dangerous, with spotted coats, an odd creature that looked like a duck but had fur like a dog. There were elves who could juggle swords and breathe fire.

But, most interesting of all had been an exhibit titled "The strange creatures of Ennor." Therein, elves were portraying creatures that they had never seen but only heard of from the Valar. A tall elf wearing the bark of a tree all over his body and a long beard made of hair and leaves, walked about slowly, speaking strange words in a deep and monotonous voice. Artanis had shied away behind Earwen's skirts, fearful that this creature might be real. Also there had been an elf who was squatting as if to show that he was short, his face covered in great mats of false, wiry, red hair. But most frightening of all had been the elf called a Moriquendi. His skin was painted black and he wore only a loincloth, crouching on the ground, he looked about feverishly at the spectators with unseeing eyes and knocked stones together, grunting.

"Naneth," a curious Artanis had tugged at her mother's skirts, "why can he not see?"

"Those who turned away from the march live still in Ennor, where the light of the trees cannot penetrate. There is no light at all there but a perpetual night. Some say that, because they have no need for sight, living in darkness, they have gone blind. It is even said that they have forgotten speech and live like animals, without king nor culture." Earwen replied, her voice deep and musical.

"Is it true nana?" Artanis reached up with chubby hands and her mother lifted her, setting her on her hip.

"Nay, I think not. For, even though Elu Thingol was lost, I cannot imagine that the Illuvatar should forget his children. Can you Artanis?"

"Un uh." The toddler replied, shaking her curly golden head.

"And besides, both of your grandfathers remember the people who were sundered from us and they assure me that they are exactly the same as you and me and Finrod and father." Earwen said, kissing Artanis's tiny button nose, "And besides, even if someone does look very very different than you you must never forget that their heart is the same. Do you know what that means?"

"Everyone's got feelings?" Artanis said as she chewed on her fingers and rocked back and forth on chubby bare feet.

"Good girl! That's exactly right!" Earwen squeezed her daughter's hand and then picked her up, balancing the toddler on her hip. "Don't forget it now. Promise me?"

"Promise nana," Artanis had laughed.

The memory brought a smile to her lips. But it was not so much the details that had caused Artanis to recall that moment of her youth, indeed she had seen many things that day that she could no longer recall, and even the bright colors of the exotic animals seemed but blurry shadows in her memory. What she recalled most of all was the way that she had felt. For time itself could neither erase nor dim the memory of the excited palpitations of a child's heart, eyes wide with wonder at never before seen things, or the spark that lit an adventurous spirit and a curious mind.

Now, wandering in the festival grounds outside of Menegroth, the same feeling arose in her for, wherever she looked, there was some new creature, new being, new sight, new sound, new smell. Yet, she shuddered at her recollection of the way that these peoples had been portrayed in Valinor. How ignorant they had all been. If only those who had remained behind could live amongst the elves of Middle Earth, they might have come to see them as she saw them now: no less enlightened and just as wonderful. Perhaps, if there had been no sundering, there would have been no kinslaying.

There were indeed, as Celeborn had said, many different peoples. There were dwarves, which she had only caught glimpses of before in Menegroth, For the dwarves of Nogrod and Belegast did much trade with Doriath. But now they wandered about in large groups and she could not help but stare, for never before had she seen so many of them together. Short and squat they were, coming only to just below her waist, with thick, wiry, red hair that nearly covered their entire faces! Their beards were ornately braided and they wore clothes of coarse brown fabrics with finely made armor, upon which they had engraved words in their strange runes. They carried axes, which were heavier and less beautiful than those of the Sindar, but more suited, she thought, to what she could perceive of their culture. It was not true, she saw, that dwarven females had beards but, from all the hair that sprouted from their heads, one might almost imagine it to be so and they too, she noted, wore armor and carried axes.

In awe, and betraying her Noldorin tastes, she had been drawn to their wares. All manner of things did they sell, wrought in the finest metals and inlaid with precious stones. A kind dwarf with a gruff laugh had shown her many necklaces, set with gemstones and beautifully wrought, though of quite a different style than anything she had ever seen.

"If there is anything that you want I shall buy it for you." Celeborn said.

"I do not need anything," she said as they moved past a group of green elves. Their clothing was made of leaves and they seemed not to care that they were mostly naked. Some of them had monkeys that sat upon their shoulders and Artanis had gasped in surprise as her golden circlet was unexpectedly snatched from her head by one of these creatures, causing Celeborn to double over in laughter. Its master had laughed merrily and retrieved the trinket from his animal, returning it to Artanis with a twinkling wink and a kind word.

There were Avari as well, though they were few, one tall dark-haired male had with him a forest cat, an enormous, leanly muscled beast with sleek, short black fur. Its eyes had been of the most startling copper color and when it yawned she had seen that its mouth was full of large sharp teeth. Despite her mild fear of the beast, she lingered there for the scent of spices was heavy in the air and, in a moment of sensory indulgence that was strange to her, she yearned to breathe them all in. The spices were sold in the Avari tents, each in its own urn and there must have been hundreds of urns, brimming to the top with vibrantly colored powders and leaves. Birds they had too, some with tails as long as an elf was tall, though not as tall as Thingol, and in the most brilliant shades. Some were a green so bright it seemed almost blinding and others were of a fuchsia deep and rich, with specks of blue as bright as the sea. Though they were called dark elves, she could see nothing dark about them.

"The green elves I have seen around on occasion," she said to Celeborn, "but I have never before seen the Avari. Why do they not come to Menegroth?"

"That is a long tale, and one for another time," Celeborn whispered.

The Nandor were also there, having come from far away, and she had thought that these people too would be savage and so they looked it to her, but she could see by their handiwork that they were very skilled. Knives they sold, blades of smoky topaz, like deep brown unmarred glass, and sharper. The handles were of many different woods, ornately carved in the likeness of forest creatures. One of the artisans had noticed her eyeing, with amazement, a particular blade, small, with a handle of white ash in the shape of a deer, so lifelike she half expected to feel warmth when she touched the hilt.

"Beautiful is it not?" The young Nandorin maid had commented. "My uncle made this one. See these holes?" She gestured to a series of four holes that ran the length of the knife, just above its edge. "Perhaps you have not seen them before for they are of my peoples' own design. But they are very useful, see?" She took an apple from her pocket and sliced through it as easily as if it had been butter. Then she drew the knife out and Artanis was astonished to see that the apple did not stick to the blade but fell away easily in two equal pieces. "They allow a place for air to move as the blade slices through. That way a vacuum is not created, the knife comes away clean, allowing for more accurate cutting."

"This is a fruit knife?" Artanis had asked, stunned that something so beautiful was used for such a mundane task.

"Indeed, but if that is not what you seek we have many other choices." Smiling, the dark haired girl offered a smaller blade of the same fine quartz with an ebony handle. "This one was made by my hand and it is an excellent design for carving wood or stone alike." We have knives for many purposes and all are handcrafted by my people. Hunting knives we have too, but even butter knives we can craft for you." Driven by awe far more than need, Artanis eyed the fruit knife, turning the blade so that the quartz caught the light of the floating lanterns.

"Would you like it?" Celeborn asked.

"Oh, I…I don't need it." Artanis said, though she had taken an immediate affinity to it she did not want to ask Celeborn for such a trivial thing.

"That isn't what I asked you." Celeborn said with a smile, pressing three silver coins into the Nandorin girl's hand. She smiled and kindly thanked them for her business, putting the elegant blade in a fine leather sheath before handing it to her. Artanis felt the light weight of it in her pocket as she had roamed throughout the other tents.

"You didn't have to do that." Artanis said out of a sense of politeness, but she could not deny that she had wanted it.

"I wanted to. Indulge me." He said with a smile and she thanked him. And indulge they did for, as they walked on they came to vendors selling all manner of foods. There were small river trout, salted and roasted over hot coals, skewers of fruit kept on ice, sweet potatoes glazed with honey and sprinkled with seeds, noodles with vegetables, grilled slices of chicken and steak with fresh squeezed lemon, confections and cookies made of fruit and nuts, and all manner of drinks both hot and cold. Celeborn abandoned any pretensions of restraint and bought them without reserve.

Carrying their newly acquired bounty, they passed by Thingol's tents and Artanis saw the more practical purpose of such festivals as Thingol's chief advisors and the high officials of his realm bartered for goods with the lords of the various clans and races so that Doriath would be provisioned with all that it needed for the autumn and winter months, until spring allowed trade to be resumed. Grains and foodstuffs, tar and pitch, all things were bartered for, traded, and commissioned. Indeed, Thingol was no simple woodland king who had been left behind. Rather, he was the lord of a vast empire, teeming with riches, developed cultures, and vast networks of trade and diplomacy. How very different it was, she thought, than what they had assumed they would find had been so very different from the reality.

"Should you not be with them?" She asked with a grin, elbowing her lover.

"I think that the King can manage without me for one evening," he smiled.

Finally they seated themselves a little ways apart from other young couples and families who were enjoying stargazing and Celeborn began to eat with all the delight of a child. Artanis could not help but laugh.

"Try this one." He brandished a half-eaten grilled trout at her.

"The head is still on it." She said with a hint of trepidation as she took it from his hands.

"Well don't eat the head then. I promise, it's good." Artanis took a bite and, to her surprise, found that it was indeed delicious and soon she had devoured the entire thing, sans head, and licked the salty grease from her fingers. Celeborn tore a round cake in two and handed half of it to her. "You can only get these cakes at the Moon Festival but I loved them as an elfling so I would save all of my pocket money and buy as many as I could." He said.

"And did you eat all of them at the same time too?" She asked. The cake was delicious, soft and filled with custard.

"On occasion." He replied. "And it did not generally end well for me."

"I would imagine not." She replied, laughing. The cake was very sweet and too much of it could easily make one sick.

They sat in pleasant silence for a long while, enjoying the festive atmosphere and the beauty of the night but Artanis could tell that Celeborn was brooding, working something over in his mind the way that a smith worked over a sword, folding the thought back upon itself a thousand times to make it strong, hammering it out to make it smooth, honing the edge so as to make it cut deep. She waited, wondering, for it seemed as though he meant to ask her something.

"Hello there!" The merry voice of Beleg strongbow greeted them and they turned to see the man himself approaching, Luthien on his arm and Dairon, Galathil, and Oropher following behind. "Enjoying yourselves I hope."

"We certainly are!" Luthien cried, her grey eyes twinkling merrily as she let out a less-than ladylike laugh, which brought a broad smile to Artanis's face. She was a vision in silver brocade silk, her dark hair hanging in long ringlets, strung with pearls and diamonds, as if she herself were clothed in stars. She at least, Artanis thought, seemed to be having a fabulous time, due not only to the joy of the festival but, it appeared, to how much alcohol she seemed to have imbibed.

"May we join you?" Beleg asked.

"Of course!" Celeborn replied, with a smile as he brandished his hand in a gesture of welcome, and all of their friends seated themselves on the grassy knoll.

"Are you sure we're not interrupting something private?" Galathil asked. He and Oropher elbowed each other, exchanged glances, and began laughing as though they shared some great secret. They too, Artanis noted, seemed to have imbibed quite a good deal of alcohol. "Galadriel," Galathil said, leering at her, and she reached out and slapped his arm in punishment. Oropher watched, seeming bemused, but he met Artanis's eyes on accident and quickly looked away. She knew that he did not approve of her, that he disliked her and her people, but she was grateful that he kept his opinions private and managed to do so with a great deal of tact.

Dairon on the other hand… They were all chatting away happily with Celeborn now, all for Dairon that was. Dairon, the loremaster and minstrel: silent, brooding, sour Dairon.

Celeborn had confided in her that he did not particularly like Dairon, though that was common knowledge. But she could easily have guessed that, for Celeborn was distrustful by nature and did not care for any one else that he deemed to be hiding secret motivations. And, it was no secret that Dairon bore no great love for Celeborn either. She had heard that this was because he disliked Celeborn's aggressive, straightforward manner and he had a certain disdain for those who were disciples of the axe and sword rather than the pen and harp, despite the fact that he was on amiable terms with Beleg and Mablung. However, he was a dear friend of Luthien's and of Celeborn's brother Galathil, himself a herald, and so for that reason Celeborn and Dairon tolerated each other for the sake of their friends.

Artanis had only been around Dairon a few times and thus she did not feel as though she had enough of an experience with him to accurately say whether she liked him or no but she did feel some measure of pity for him, for she recognized the way that he looked at Luthien. She had often been the subject of such glances.

"Artanis, have you heard aught of Finrod lately?" Beleg asked her, his words pulling her out of her thoughts. "For I often wonder how his venture goes in Nargothrond and I should like to go and visit him myself if I can ever find the time."

"Oh Finrod! How I do miss him so!" Luthien chimed in. "Things are always so much more fun when he is around."

"He writes to me often," Artanis told them. "In fact, I have just had a letter from him and by his account things go very well indeed and they are making much progress."

"I am glad to hear it," Beleg said as Luthien, humming to herself, began to plait his hair.

"But my brother does tend to see everything through rose tinted glass," Artanis said with a laugh. "Nargothrond could be falling apart around him and he would still be speaking only of his grand dreams."

"When next I see him I shall be sure to let him know that he has your vote of confidence," Beleg said with a laugh, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.

"Incidentally," Celeborn said, "Artanis and I will soon be making a visit to Nargothrond."

"Is that so?" Beleg asked. "For business or for pleasure?"

"A bit of both actually."

"Ah," the warden said with an intake of breath, having just realized, of course, that Celeborn would be going to speak to Finrod of the Silmarils and wondering, perhaps, if he ought not have questioned. Celeborn felt Galadriel stiffen in his arms. "You must tell me of your visit when you return," Beleg said, hoping to smooth over any discord he may have inadvertently caused. The news of the Silmarils had spread like wildfire throughout Menegroth and, as could have been easily expected, it had been greeted at best with a good deal of consternation and at worst by outright anger. It had made the past few years rather difficult for Galadriel, and Celeborn knew that she was anticipating spending some time away from Menegroth in the company of her family.

And he admitted freely to himself, if not to others, that he too was looking forward to the journey, for his continued association with Galadriel had made him a prime target for Saeros's political attacks and even for the scorn of Oropher, though at least Oropher had the grace to keep the matter between the two of them. Saeros, on the other hand, had no compunctions with making his opinions of Galadriel publicly known.

"We shall certainly be sure to do so," Celeborn replied and, after passing many a happy hour in conversation with their friends, he and Galadriel at last adjourned to their chambers as the sun began to dawn.

"I am very much looking forward to visiting Finrod," Celeborn said after they had returned to their chambers, handing Artanis a glass of the bitter grain liquor that the Sindarin warriors were fond of. She took a sip and it burned her throat something horribly going down but settling in her stomach the fire of it warmed her and seemed even to give her courage.

"As am I," she said simply.

"Are you tired?" He asked her, for she seemed to be weary.

"It is only…my visions are growing worse lately," she confessed.

"It exhausts you," he said, speaking the fear of his heart, noting the weariness in her eyes and she nodded, leaning her head back to rest upon his knee. "But you have grown have you not? You can control them much better than you could when I met you."

"All thanks to Melian's assistance," she said. "She has assured me that it will get better, that I will grow more accustomed to it, that it will not drain me so thoroughly." The silence stretched between them.

"But it will always drain you," he said, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," she replied, taking another drink of the strong alcohol. Celeborn thought for a long time before he spoke.

"Then what can I do to help you?" He asked.

"You are already helping me simply be being you," she replied. "You ground me, anchor me in the temporal, preventing me from slipping fully into the realm of shadows and madness." And she turned a smile up towards him though in her heart she felt sickened by herself, at the lie that she perpetuated.

"Then you shall always have me at your side," he said before kissing her reverently. If only he knew her, truly knew what she had done, how she had betrayed him, Artanis thought, then he would not make her such an extravagant promise nor would he long for her kisses. She sighed and he could tell that she was eager to change the topic.

"Is Dairon always so…so…is he always…" She asked, not quite sure of the word that she wanted to use.

"Sulking? Yes," He said with a small laugh, finding the word for her, "he is always that way and it tries my nerves most severely, all of his keeping silent and murmuring under his breath. If he has something he would like to say then he ought to address it for what is to be gained from that sort of behavior? Only children act thusly."

"Everyone knows that you and he were not fond of each other," she said. "But do not be overly harsh on him Celeborn, for unrequited love is a trial for even those with the strongest of constitutions."

"Unrequited love?" Celeborn asked, both startled and confused. "Not for you I hope?"

"No!" She laughed. "Can you not see that he loves Luthien?" Celeborn shook his head, sitting back, amazed. "You really didn't know?" She exclaimed incredulously but Celeborn merely shook his head again and chuckled.

"How easily you can see into the minds of others. I must admit that I never knew," he confessed, "though I professed to see all that passes within my own realm. Still, it is not good for him to dwell on such a thing if she is unwilling. It would be better if he turned his mind towards other things, and other girls. If she has given him her answer then she has given him her answer, what is he to profit by clinging to false hope?"

"That is all true," she said, "but I do not know what has passed between them and it may be that he has said nothing to her of it at all."

"Then that is very dishonest of him indeed," Celeborn said but Artanis gave him a chiding look.

"Not everyone is so bold as to ply their beloved with such treasures as dwarf fish," Artanis told him and he turned to glower at her.

"That was a very fine fish. I shall never understand why you did not want it," he replied, but he could not quite keep the grin from his face. Artanis leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling the pleasant warmth of the fire upon her face.

"Have I tired you out?" Celeborn asked.

"Quite," she said with a smile, her eyes still closed. A moment later she felt him rise, carrying her to the bed, and she nestled into the warmth of it, of him. That feeling, of comfort, of safety, was so reminiscent of her childhood, when she would pretend to fall asleep in her father's study and he would lift her and carry her all the way to her room to tuck her into bed. Of course, as an adult she had realized that he had most probably known all along that it was nothing more than a farce, but it had delighted her all the same.

She turned and tucked her head beneath Celeborn's, nestling against his chest. "Still," she said, sleepily, "whether or not you care for Dairon personally, you must admit that he is an extraordinary musician."

"That he is indeed," Celeborn said. "But that is nothing to recommend him to me, for I care very little indeed for musicians and, though I enjoy listening to the music that they produce, I myself find music making to be tedious."

"Your own brother is a herald and a musician!" She said, opening her eyes, but Celeborn grinned.

"Well Galathil is alright I suppose."

"And is not music the pride of the Sindar?"

"How generous of you Noldor to grant that we lowly Sindar do surpass you in one art," Celeborn said wryly, tickling her.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she laughed. "And you are a liar. Beleg tells me that you have a fine singing voice."

"Curses be upon him," Celeborn retorted. "That is a different matter entirely. Those are songs of war, battle cries. They are not proper music, not what Dairon would call music." There was just enough of a hint of bitterness in his tone to draw her suspicion.

"Aha!" She whispered, tapping his nose with her finger. "Is that the source of the bickering between you and he?"

"Nonsense," Celeborn replied, but Artanis could see that she had struck near the truth.

"It is!" She exclaimed.

"Absolutely not," Celeborn replied, but he had blushed a rather vigorous shade of crimson.

"Very well then, sing me something, anything."

"I have not the talents of Dairon or of Galathil," he told her. "Nor would I wish to sing war songs to you."

"And what sort of song would you wish to sing to me?" She asked. He was silent for a moment, looking somewhat displeased before he abashedly replied.

"A song of love," he said reluctantly, "but I do not know any."

"Not a single one?" She queried. He was silent. "You do know one then." She said, grinning like a cat, determined now to draw it out of him.

"You would not like it," he told her.

"Why ever not?" She asked, tucking his hair behind his ear.

"You will say the same thing that you say when I call you Galadriel," he said, "that it is too indulgent. You will not like it, that is, if you can even understand it. It is older than I, and so is the language"

"Please?" She asked him and, as ever, he found himself unable to refuse her and began, slowly, haltingly, in a low and haunting tone.

"In the starlight I felt your heart

Quiver like a bowstring's pulse

In the stars' pale light

You looked at me

The lady with the secret heart

In the forest I have seen you

Beautiful and haunting but cold

Like the edge of a knife so sharp so sweet

The lady with the secret heart"

Artanis shivered at the words, her heart growing chill within her chest as if a sudden foreboding had come over her, for it was not the first time that she had heard that song and well did she know the words. They were in the old language, the language of Cuivenen, the language of the first Teleri, a language remembered now only in song and the Teleri of Aman remembered that song still. The images flashed through her mind: her mother singing that song as she sat by her bed at night, her grandmother singing it as she brushed her hair, the servants of her mother's family singing it as the baked, and washed, and cleaned. Standing on the quay with darkness all around encircling, a black pit, a road leading to nowhere, back and again to nowhere, ever to nowhere and darkness, unknowing, unbeing nowhere. Her skin sloughed off and the blood poured down out of her like candle wax, her organs flopping out like fish upon the dock, wasting their last breaths in futile struggle.

"All of your sorrow, grief, and pain

locked away in the forest of the night

your secret heart belongs to the world

of the things that hide in the dark

of the things that ..."

"Stop! For the sake of the Valar stop damn you!" She cried, and he did, confused, taken aback, hurt even. And though he moved to speak, not a word left his mouth.

"I am sorry," she said suddenly, her voice growing as cold as her heart felt. "You are right…I do not like it. I can't even understand it." The silence hung heavy between them and Artanis felt a dull hollowness in the pit of her stomach as she abruptly turned onto her side, facing away from him, for she knew that she had hurt him, and deeply. _And yet he does not yet know how badly I have done so, _she thought, blinking away the tears that threatened to rise. How ardently she wished that she could blink away her past as well and yet…had she never come here she would never have met him, loved him. _And he would have lived a happier life because of your absence, _her heart whispered. It was a maze from which she could not escape. She felt his hand, hovering above her hip, as though he worried over whether to pursue the matter any further, to ask if he had offended her. But he did nothing and, presently, turned on his side as well, so that they were back to back.

But Celeborn could not find sleep, though it seemed Galadriel had, despite her heart's unease, and he lay awake for many a long hour, reluctant to admit to himself at first that those were tears that wetted his eyes. At last he stood and, whether because he was driven by some morbid desire to do her injury as she had done him, or because in his heartbreak he could see clearly at last, he took pen to paper and began to write. It did not take him long to think of the words. In fact, everything he had been wanting to say, everything that he had, in the recesses of his mind, dared to ponder came pouring out like a veritable deluge and he found that it had all already been there, present in his heart and growing like a cancer.

He had seen it before in others, that moment, a breath between heartbeats in which love ceases to exist, like a candle put out by a gust of wind, an irrevocable extinguishing of sentiment. Even the tiniest thing can spark such a monumental change: the sound of laughter, a single word, an expression that darts across the face as quickly as a deer in the meadow. But in truth even the smallest thing is part of a larger whole and so he knew that this too, this denial, this rejection, was merely part of a much larger rejection that had been happening since ever they met and now, at last he had tasted of the fruit himself, tasted fully and found it exceedingly bitter.

Yes, he had seen it before, but he had never felt it until this evening. And yet, when she had cried to him to stop, something in him had changed, something he could not control, and that feeling, that love he had borne her was so utterly and inescapably gone that he knew beyond any shade of doubt that he could not get it back no matter how hard he searched for it. His heart was pounding, for he felt very much like a boat adrift and, truthfully, his heart had almost forgotten how to feel anything else. He was lost.

So he paced, from the fire from the bed and from the bed to the fire, throughout the maze of his chambers, around and around and around. He moved to sit by her, watching as she slept, reaching out to touch her hair, her fingers, and yet nothing he did ignited even the smallest spark in his heart. He felt absolutely nothing for her. It was something he had never anticipated. How could he ever have imagined that the woman he had awakened beside this evening he would no longer love by noon? How was it possible that a love that had begun with such hope, such promise, such excitement could end so suddenly, so plainly, as though it had been nothing.

He returned to his seat before the fire and read his letter again, and again, and again. So lost was he in thoughts and worry and anxiety that he did not notice the sky gradually turn to dusk or the sounds of the servants awakening.

It seemed that, despite her heart's unease, she at last found sleep, for the next thing she recalled was slowly and groggily coming to. She reached out to find that Celeborn was no longer there and that where he had lain had now grown cold, but hearing the faint rustling of parchment, she blinked and opened eyes still blurry from sleep to stare up at the enchanted ceiling. Stars twinkled there, smiling down upon her, but her heart did not feel so merry.

Artanis sat up, the sheets pooling about her hips, and saw that her lover sat on the floor in the next room at a low table by the fire, wearing only his breeches, his feet bare and his hair unbound, obscuring his face. All of Menegroth would be waking now, but the spot next to her showed signs of not having been slept in at all, and she wondered how long Celeborn had been awake. Slipping from the bed, she reached down to pick up her dressing gown and pulled it on, knotting the sash loosely about her waist, before padding across the grassy forest floor to her lover's side.

"Celeborn, meleth nin," she whispered softly, touching his shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing," he said, "it is only that matter with the dwarves and Thingol," but he shuffled the papers and folded them, tucking them away in a leather bound book as if he did not wish her to see. "I'm still investigating it." The silence hung like a heavy frost between them and she saw that sleep had not made either of them forget what had passed between them at noontide.

"And I thought you had given that up," she said.

Celeborn said nothing, merely folded his arms, resting his elbows on his knees, and Artanis moved to kneel behind him, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. She felt him grow tense at her touch and her heart ached, recalling the pain that she had caused him.

"Celeborn, I am sorry," she whispered, pushing his long hair over his shoulder so that she might see his back. Gently, she traced the scars there; they must have been very deep cuts to leave such permanent marks upon an elf, or else they had gone untreated. She lowered her lips to them, kissing each one, as if by doing so she could soothe the wounds she had cut into his heart, but it seemed almost as though his skin itself shrank from her touch. "Forgive me," she pleaded, "I…I do not know why I said what I did, but I am sorry for it." It was a lie, and she felt filthy saying it, but what else could she do? Celeborn was silent for a moment and then he reached back to take her hand, pulling her forward to sit upon his lap and sighing deeply.

"There is a heavy matter, very heavy indeed, that weighs upon my mind and consumes my thoughts." He said.

"Then I would beg of you to impart your concerns to me," she said, wrapping her arms about his broad shoulders, "for you ought not bear a burden alone, most especially when there is another that might help you carry it."

But Celeborn merely shook his head. "No, it is a private matter."

Artanis looked quite taken aback by that but he found that he did not much care how she felt. She had done the same to him too many times to count. Indeed, he found that he did not care for her much at all at the moment and only wished that she would be soon gone.

"Shall I see if we might have breakfast brought to us?" She asked, seeming to sense that something was amiss, and rose.

"Not in your dressing gown you shouldn't," he said, but there was no humor in his tone.

"Very well," She said, shrugging the robe off, and he watched with disinterest as she dressed and then sat, brushing her golden hair.

He waited for a few moments after he heard her receding footsteps and the click of the door closing before he sighed and, with a heavy heart, opened the leather bound book that lay before him, carefully removing the letter that he had hastily thrust inside.

"Galadriel," he whispered the word to the empty room and the silence swallowed it as he eyed the letter, not quite having the courage to read once more what he had written therein. At long last, his heart having grown stronger, he unfolded it.

_To Cirdan,_

_Lord of the Falas and Master Shipwright_

_Liege of Elu Thingol, High King of Beleriand,_

_From His nephew,_

_Celeborn, Prince of Doriath_

_High Prince of Beleriand _

_High Prince of the Sindar_

_My dear Sir,_

_I it is my most sincere hope that this letter finds you in the best of spirits in this the season of golden leaves__ and cool mornings when the mist rises off of the Sirion. Though we have not met face to face in many a long year, it is always with great joy that I receive your letters, dear kinsman._

_It is with great regret, however, that I confess that I write to you now not with tidings of joy, but for the purpose of seeking information regarding a matter of great secrecy and, most probably, of even greater malevolence. _

_As you well know, when the Noldor first came to our lands many years ago, Thingol and yourself shared fears that they came with some darker intention than they purported, or else that they had committed some great evil of which they dared not speak or were under the shadow of some dark fate or curse. And you also know that I shared in these fears, wondering at what matter had caused such great discontent and ill-feeling amongst the princes of the Noldor. _

_As you know, we in Doriath at first thought that, amongst the Noldor, the children of Finarfin alone were innocent and thus we allowed them entrance into our kingdom and also because they bear the blood of Earwen, their mother, who is the daughter of our King's brother. Yet many years spent in their proximity has revealed to us that they too likely played some part in whatever evil has passed, though we could not perceive at first. Whether this is because the part they played in this wrongdoing was less than that of the sons of Feanor or of Fingolfin, or because they were more adept at concealing these matters from us we do not know._

_Of late, this matter weighs heavily upon my mind even as it does the King's and I now have cause to believe that the King's concern over this matter and his agitation with the Noldorin princes for withholding from him what he deems to be valuable information may have caused him to take some actions which are less than prudent. I beg you not think me treasonous for having confessed such thoughts and I assure you that it is only with the good of my King and my kingdom in mind that I write them. And it is also for that purpose that I write to you now, for I would beg you send me word with all haste of any and all information that may come into your possession regarding the deeds of any of the Noldor, but most particularly of the children of Finarfin, Finrod called Felagund, Lord of Nargothrond, and his sister, the Lady Artanis. _

_Once more I must beg your silence and secrecy regarding this matter for I am sure that you can understand the delicacy of our current situation. _

_I remain as I ever have been and ever shall be, the humble and obedient servant of our king,_

_Celeborn Galadhonion_

He refolded the letter and tapped it absentmindedly upon the table as he stared into the fire, his thoughts running hither and thither in his mind. He wanted to believe, desperately almost, that Galadriel truly loved him enough that she would keep no secret from him that he ought to know, that she would not willingly jeopardize Doriath or her people. If there was a secret then surely, surely there must be some justifiable reason that she kept it from him… But now he wondered if she ever loved him at all, or if that was just a lie too.

He hissed in pain, looking down at a small cut on his finger marked by a thin red line of blood. In his distraction it seemed that he had been running his fingers back and forth across the seam of the letter. It angered him for some reason and he stood, stepping around the table to the fire, holding the letter out over the flames. _Have I sunk so deeply into paranoia that I will be overwhelmed by the same sickness of the mind that pulls at Thingol now? Am I becoming like Saeros and Oropher, distrustful and suspicious of all, content to fence myself and my kingdom off to live in complete and total isolation? _He wondered_. _His hand quivered, pondering the audacity of hope, of trust…of consigning this letter to the flames – but no, he licked his lips nervously and folded it, tucking it into the pocket of his breeches; she was false. He knew it and he had denied it for far too long.

"Celeborn," he heard Artanis's voice from the entryway and turned to see her enter the room, a smile like sunshine upon her face. "I meant to have breakfast sent up but…is something the matter?" A look of concern crossed her face and Celeborn thought that he must not have disguised his thoughts as well as he had hoped. "Celeborn, I…about last night…I truly am sorry…" she began, looking crestfallen, but Celeborn quickly schooled his features into a smile.

"It is nothing," he said. "Consider it forgotten and think no more of it." Did she truly think him so naïve as to believe her false apologies? But, of course she did, for he had been believing them for years now.

"I was going to have breakfast sent up," she said, wrapping her arms about his neck, "but I saw Melian on the way and she invited us to break our fast with her and Thingol instead if that is amenable to you."

"Very well," he said before donning a shirt and, together, the two of them set off for the King's chambers.


	12. Chapter 12: Darkness Rising

**Darkness Rising**

Doriath: 12th Chapter

* * *

><p>"That was their way, their heathenish hope;<p>

deep in their hearts they remembered hell."

_- Seamus Heaney's Beowulf_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Thank you everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed! You guys keep me going.

I just want to point out that this chapter (and the next few) delve a lot into the characters' motivations, fears, and feelings. I am sincerely not trying to paint anyone as a "bad guy" but attempting to show how complicated their circumstances are and setting the ground for the choices they will make down the road. Although there is at least a grain of truth in what each character says or thinks, and sometimes more than a grain, what each of them presents is only the truth as they see it and their version of events and opinions are definitely subject to doubt and debate.

If you have a brief moment, please don't forget to leave a review or PM me! You guys are vital to helping me stay on track and I truly value all of your input. This is your story as much as it is mine.

* * *

><p>"What is it that you sense?" The king did ask his queen. "What woe is it that lays her low? What secret so obscene, that she must hide from kith and kin that which we would glean?" His eyes were keen as lances, his shoulders straight and strong, his brow was creased with worry, his mind concerned with wrong.<p>

"It is death," she said, "and can be no other unless my sight does lead me stray. "For what else could cast that pallid veil, over shining face and make it fell, or steal from summer's blooming rose the glowing blush of sun?"

* * *

><p>The surface of the Esgalduin was dark as obsidian, slow flowing in the cold and the snow floated down onto it, white like foam. In its mirror-like surface the bare black branches of trees and the thick green needles of conifers were reflected. Snow lay heavily on their branches and coated the ground like a thick carpet so that the trees almost seemed to be sinking in it. Every now and again a group of white-tailed deer would emerge from amongst the trees, looking at them curiously as they drank from the water's edge and, occasionally they would see a rabbit, bright red cardinals, red-breasted robins, or owls of numerous varieties playing in the gray sky overhead. But the most pervading sensation was the silence that enveloped them, that hung over the countryside like a blanket.<p>

Perhaps it was simply being away from the hustle and bustle of Menegroth that made the forest seem so silent by comparison and perhaps she had become so accustomed to Menegroth that silence now made her uncomfortable. But the creeping, slowly seeping feeling that was beginning to fill her heart was like a river rising in spring as the ice melted, the slow yet ominous threat of drowning flood.

The world was a hollow eggshell, the white and yolk long gone, so empty even that the membrane coating its walls had dried up and fallen away, leaving only the chalky shell behind and her, sitting in the midst of that fragile cradle waiting, worrying, wondering when it would crack and bear her forth to an endless chasm, a void of shuddering and silence.

She knew that something had changed between them, something imperceptible and yet monumental. He hardly spoke to her any longer and, as the weeks grew, he spent more and more time at the borders with the wardens and she spent more and more time in a cold and empty bed. And in the hollow of her heart a bell tolled, whispering, 'he loves you not' and her doubts stretched out around her like a spider's web until her very heart itself felt like that selfsame eggshell and she held it within her carefully, as if each breath would be enough to splinter it.

Their canoe drifted slowly down the Esgalduin with the forest of Region on their left and the forest Neldoreth on their right. "This is a lovely boat." She said, if only to break the silence, dipping her oar into the water. The canoe was of Celeborn's making, simple yet practical and elegant in its design, a boat of white cedar striped in different hues and coated with a glossy varnish.

"It must be the Telerin blood in me," Celeborn replied quietly and fell silent.

His words were sour in her ears and, impulsively, she found herself wanting to reprimand him for bringing up such an unhappy topic, though she knew that the guilt and blame were all in her own mind and that, of course, she could say nothing to him regarding the matter of the Teleri. Their arrival that evening in a bustling fishing village at the edge of the girdle, nestled beneath the boughs of Neldoreth, and situated on the banks of the Esgalduin, was a relief, for it meant that she was no longer alone with Celeborn and with the interminable, unbearable silence.

They entered a marshy inlet where the water was a still, pale, and perfect blue and the icy black boles of slender young maples rose up through the water like pillars, their boughs delicately covered with snow, and frozen reeds knocked against the side of the canoe, rattling like bones as they approached the quay where a line of elves stood waiting.

"Your Royal Highness! Welcome!" The cheerfulness of the voice was a stark contrast to the somberness of her mood. A dark haired elf stepped forward, bowing low to Celeborn before pulling the prince into a friendly embrace that surprised Artanis. The assembly of elves behind him merely bowed. Their clothes were simple but finely made, and the females as well as males wore breeches and tunics in the dusky hues of the forest, suited to life on the frontier but the quality of the cloth was evidence that this was a prosperous village, indeed, a primary supplier of fish to Menegroth itself. Amaron, she had been told, was the name of this village's chieftain and he, she assumed, was the one who had greeted Celeborn as they exited the boat.

"It has been a long time indeed since we had the honor of a royal visit." Amaron said and Celeborn, grinning, clasped the other elf's shoulder, making his apologies, which the chieftain dismissed, before turning inquisitive eyes towards Artanis.

"Artanis Finarfiniel, sister of Finrod Felagund, Lord of Nargothrond, and handmaiden to our queen, her majesty Melian of Doriath," Celeborn said by way of introduction.

"My Lady," Amaron inclined his head with a smile and took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "It is an honor indeed to be in the presence of such rare and exquisite beauty," he said. "And none of you tell my wife what I have said!" He turned to his advisors, who let out a raucous chorus of laughter that made Artanis smile and forget, for a moment, the many worries that had plagued her mind.

"Your highness," the elf turned back to Celeborn, his voice low and discreet, "forgive me but we have only prepared for your arrival and would not be aware that you would be conveying this lady to her brother's realm. Shall we have a place prepared for the lady as well?"

But Celeborn raised his hand in a gesture of denial and said, "she is my consort."

"Ah, my apologies," Amaron said with a grin but Artanis wondered why Celeborn had replied as he had since he had seemed so unwilling to share a bed of late and the chieftain had made an offer that would have been so easy to accept.

"No need," Celeborn replied with a smile as the people ushered them through the village to the chieftain's house. The snow was falling softly now onto thatched rooves, the windows were lit with a warm glow, and the streets of the town were filled with elves milling about. Some of them were simply going about their business, toting firewood, returning home with their catch, others were holding elflings on their shoulders so that they might see their prince. Here and there were young elf maids and elf men, still growing into their gangly bodies, who huddled in groups, laughing and casting admiring glances at the two nobles.

Something about the peace and joy here brought a smile to her face and, wistfully, she imagined what such a life must be like, away from the intrigues of Menegroth or of the Feanorians, a simple life on the frontier, a difficult life but a rewarding one.

The snow crunched beneath their feet and, carefully, they made their way up the ice-slick steps, shedding their boots and heavy capes before passing into the dwelling. It was the first time that Artanis had ever been in a Sindarin farmhouse and, upon entering, she found herself entirely astounded, for the house was simple yet beautiful. The floors were of a dark and glossy wood and constructed so finely that the seams where the boards met were barely visible. Wood and paper lanterns hung here and there, glowing warmly. Some of the rooms were divided with sliding reed or paper screens while others were marked off by hanging tapestries embroidered with the most beautiful scenes.

Amaron led them into a main room where a fire was roaring in a pit in the floor over which a large black pot was hanging suspended from the ceiling. There were low tables set around the hearth and soft cushions upon which they were invited to sit and Artanis looked with awe at the spectacular view of the forest that was visible through the glass paned doors that lined the back of the house. She and Celeborn were seated on either side of Amaron and the room filled with the murmur of conversation as others filtered in, Amaron's family, friends, prominent villagers.

The adults greeted her politely, but the children did not have the grace to know that they should not stare and so they did, watching her with round eyes full of wonder, for they had never seen a Noldo before and the light in her eyes and the glimmering gold of her hair were foreign wonders entirely new to them.

"Forgive them their curiosity my Lady," Amaron's smiling wife said. "They have not yet learned any better." And she bent down to whisper into the ear of the dark-haired toddler who was clinging to her skirts. "I am Silefil." She introduced herself.

"Artanis. And I don't mind at all," Artanis said with a smile, waving to the little boy, who giggled and hid his face in his mother's skirts. His mother lifted him onto her lap and held him while they ate.

"Do you have many children?" Artanis asked her.

"Four," she said, bouncing the child on her lap. "Two are grown, a son and a daughter, both married, and these two little boys are mine as well." She kissed the boy she was holding on top of the head and gestured to the young boy sitting at Amaron's side.

"That is like my family," Artanis said, with a smile, "for I am the only girl of four children and all of my father's siblings have large families as well. But most Sindarin families I have met are quite small, at least in Menegroth it seems that many couples have only one or, at most, two children."

"That is true of most of our people," Silefil said, "though it has become more common to have a large family in the years since our Queen Melian fenced these lands. Before then it was an impossibility. Elflings made easy prey for Melkor's creatures and wild animals, and parents who have lost a child, particularly in that horrible manner, are often reluctant to have another. Or else it was often the case that one or both of the parents were killed before they were able to have any more children, as in the case of the prince and his brother." She said quietly, inclining her head in Celeborn's direction.

"Did you…know them?" Artanis asked, haltingly, noting the sad look in Silefil's eyes.

"Do you not know?" Silefil asked, "Celeborn told us that you were his consort. Did he say nothing to you?" In response to the puzzled look in the Noldo's eyes, the dark-haired elven woman sighed and ran her fingers through the soft hair of the child on her lap. In that moment Artanis almost thought that she looked old, in the way that dwarves and animals grew old. Then she reached for the golden chain that hung around her neck and pulled forth from her bodice a golden locket, drawing it over her head and handing it to Artanis.

"May I?" Artanis asked, although it seemed obvious that Silefil would not have handed her the locket if she did not want her to look at it. The Sindarin woman only nodded and Artanis carefully opened the clasp. There in the locket was set a painting so fine that Artanis almost gasped aloud at seeing it, for there could be no mistaking the woman who stared back at her out of the image. Her long hair was silver as a star, her eyes green as leaves, a familiar confidence graced her lips, just barely curled into the hint of a smile, and there was a certain courage and bravery in her gaze that humbled Artanis.

"She had that hair, that magnificent hair, even though she was not born a princess. Candil was my older sister," Silefil said, clasping the locket back about her neck, "my constant companion. She became the chieftainess of our people, a chieftainess of Thingol after our parents were killed and we spent many a long year with our people searching for the King while he was lost. It was then that she met Galadhon, a prince, the son of the King's lost brother, Elmo," she smiled, "and they were close from the start. It was no surprise to me that they married soon, for they were both quite daring and impatient besides." She laughed, and Artanis could tell that her mind was far away in memory.

"The following years were very happy ones, for Thingol was found, and Melian became our queen, and my sister had two lovely children of her own. In those days she lived here with Galadhon and her children." Silefil sighed. "I remember that we were very happy, despite the danger, for those were the days before Menegroth had been built or Melkor had been unchained. But still his creatures roamed here far and wide and they grew bolder, encroaching upon our camps, perhaps anticipating their master's imminent release. My sister was terrified that they would take her children, but she never expected that they would take her husband instead and so bold was her spirit that when they did take him she ran after them, determined that she would either kill them or be killed."

"After she went missing… I feared for the lives of her children, for this settlement was on the frontier and no longer safe for ones so young. Before she left in search of Galadhon she begged me keep them safe in the event that she did not return and I swore to her that I would. So, after several years, I took them to Thingol, for they were princes of the royal house and I knew that they would be safe with him."

"When I told Thingol of the passing of Galadhon and Candil he grew sorrowful, for Olwe had passed over the sea by that time and Elmo and his son, alone of Thingol's family, had stayed here in middle earth with him. Luthien was but a child then and Thingol had no sons and so, lamenting the death of the son of his beloved brother, he took his children as his own and raised them alongside his daughter, and I returned here, to where I was born and where I have always lived. But I dared not marry, though I had met Amaron and loved him, for I feared that my sister's fate would be our own and that, were we to have children, they too would grow to adulthood as orphans or else be killed themselves."

"But the third age of Melkor's chaining dawned and Thingol and Melian, driven by the sadness of Galadhon's death and sensing that Melkor might come to this world again to continue what evil he had started, cast the girdle about our kingdom and founded Menegroth as a refuge and capital city in preparation. It was then that we came to know peace. No longer could Melkor's creatures poach our people from their beds. And in the peace of Thingol we were able to build towns and villages, to make our living in fishing and planting and hunting without fear of meeting our death in the wild. Doriath became civilized. We built roads and bridges and ferried goods and people up and down the river and everyone prospered."

"How surprised I was!" She said with a laugh, the first time that I visited Menegroth and saw such a wonder as I had never imagined. I felt such a country girl. To think, that elves and dwarves could build such a magnificent thing, such a metropolis! I sat at the King's table and he called me his sister and I dined off of crystal and silver such as I had never dreamed of."

"But the most surprising and wonderful thing of all was to see my two nephews. For Galathil had been a babe barely able to walk when last I saw him, yet he had grown into a tall, well-learned elf, Thingol's herald, with all of his father's kindness and gentle manners. And Celeborn!" She laughed. "He was precocious child of but ten years when I took him to Thingol, but he was a man fully grown, with his father's height and broad shoulders. And he was so much like my sister in temperament, with her quick anger, her decisive nature, her sharp intellect, her boldness and daring."

"Thingol invited me to stay," she shook her head, "but this is my home and, besides, knowing that we were safe now, I wanted to return here, to marry Amaron, to have a family of my own…" She smiled. "And I did. It is thanks to Thingol and to Melian that we live so well now, that we no longer fear for the deaths of our children, of our spouses, of our loved ones and friends. It is thanks to them that the people of Doriath live in peace and happiness and prosper." She smiled. "Seeing him," she nodded towards Celeborn, "it is almost as though my sister lives again in her son. She would be proud of him, of this kingdom, of what we have all built." _Of what I am putting in grave danger, _Artanis thought to herself, feeling her heart grow chill in the midst of warmth and laughter.

"What happened, to his mother and father?" Artanis asked. She knew that Celeborn's parents were dead, indeed, it was common knowledge in Doriath, but he had never spoken on the matter before to her and she had not needed him too, assuming that the memories were too painful for him to recall.

But Silefil said nothing more in that regard and, instead, only asked, "those who return from Mandos's halls to Aman….have you…" Silefil began, haltingly.

"No… I'm sorry," Artanis replied. The dark haired Sinda's head dropped and she nodded.

"Uncle, Auntie," Celeborn said, rising, "my apologies but we have had a long journey today and will have a longer one in the next few days. I hate to turn in early, especially when I am enjoying myself so very much, but I believe I will take my rest now and the Lady Artanis will join me."

"Of course, your highness," Amaron said with a snide grin, rising, but Celeborn elbowed his uncle gently in the ribs and the two of them laughed. Silefil rose as well and embraced her nephew.

"Tell me," she said to Celeborn, casting a friendly glance at Artanis, "will Doriath soon have a Noldorin princess? Will you be the first of our princes to marry?"

"That, auntie," Celeborn said with a raised eyebrow and a grin, "is a private matter." In good spirits, he and Artanis were ushered into a magnificent room, fit for a prince of his station, where a thin mattress laden with pillows, blankets, and furs had been laid out on the glossy wooden floor. There was a low table upon which sat a steaming teapot and two porcelain tea bowls and wooden lanterns with paper screens were sitting in the corners of the room, glowing warmly. The room did not have walls, per say, so much as it was separated from the other rooms on two sides by finely painted sliding screens, some of them patterned with gold foil. The one wooden wall was completely covered by a tapestry of blue as dark as midnight, the crest of Thingol embroidered in the center in silver thread that glimmered in the lamplight. But most magnificent of all was the wall of glass paneled wooden doors that looked out upon the snow-covered forest.

Artanis walked to the doors, the wooden floor smooth and cool against her feet, looking out at the stars twinkling in the sky above, the snow that lay heavy upon the branches of pines, and the ruby red cardinals flitting about in the trees. Snow was falling gently in the light of the moon. It was rare that the Sindar slept at night and she and Celeborn were only doing so because tomorrow they planned to travel outside of the girdle, and so they would go by daylight, for orcs did not usually travel under the sun. She had grown used to waking at night and now she wished that she could stay awake, simply so that she could drink in more of the beauty of the night, so that time would not tread on, but would remain as frozen as the winter forest.

"It is strange," she said with a small laugh, speaking from her heart, "for I have always talked about how I would like to be a great queen and yet, having come here, I think that I would like to live in such a place as this, at peace amongst nature and kind people, away from the bustle of the city." She turned to see that Celeborn had stripped to his breeches, having carefully set aside his weapons and clothes. He came over to stand at her side, crossing his arms over his chest, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as she observed the way in which the glow of the lanterns played over his muscular arms and chest. It had been a long while since he had last touched her.

"Then be the queen of a forest," he said.

"Maybe I shall," she said. He laughed softly at that.

"Why did you not tell me that your family lives here, that you were born here?" She asked him softly and he turned to look at her, the light from the lanterns flickering in his green eyes. She could not quite read them and her heart quivered within the cage of her chest. He let out a long breath.

"I do not know," he said in a guarded tone, shaking his head, and she felt a sharp pain lance through her heart at the knowledge that he had kept something so intimate from her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I don't remember them," He replied. They fell silent for a while.

"Thingol is my father now, Melian my mother."

Artanis nodded and he turned to her, his eyes uncertain, and the doubt in his face stole the air from her lungs, left them burning as though she had been underwater for far too long.

"This will be our last night alone before we reach Nargothrond," he said in a low voice, and Artanis stared quizzically back, not understanding what he meant to imply.

But there was a desperation rising in Celeborn, a desperation that had been rising since he had send the letter to Cirdan a month ago, a desperation that he had tried to put to rest as he spent the hours when he ought to have been sleeping in pacing the halls, imagining every conceivable reply that he might receive, pondering every possibility, driving himself half mad. He had returned to his quarters on occasion, not only because he did need to sleep, but because he would sometimes sit and watch Artanis sleep, trying to understand why he no longer loved her, trying to make those feelings come back, maybe he still could.

"Finrod will not permit us to share a room," he said.

"That is true," she said, looking unsure. "But…I hardly see how that matters…it seems that you no longer yearn for my touch…" The words hung between them like the blade of an axe.

"That is not true," Celeborn said. It was only half a lie. He still found her beautiful, still burned with the desire to touch her, only love no longer had anything to do with it. But he had convinced himself now that if he bound himself to her then he would come to love her again, that the bond would make it so. It was a half conceived plan, as are most plans born of madness, sundered hopes, and violent desperation.

"That is not true," he said again and stepped forward, undoing the ties of her jerkin, discarding it, reaching for the clasps of her tunic and opening them one by one. Oh how she wanted to believe him, but his fingers were shaking. But this could not be Celeborn, Celeborn whose fingers never shook, whose heart never doubted, whose mind was never uncertain, but was steady in all things, as a ship in still waters. At the thought, her body stiffened. It only increased his anxiety. The tunic fell to the floor and Artanis gasped, wrapping her arms about herself. She did not know why; Celeborn had seen her naked, had touched her many a time, every part of her, and it had always brought her joy, but it did not bring her joy now.

"You do not desire my touch," he said quietly, stilling his hands. She felt the warmth of his hands withdraw

"Yes," she made herself say, "yes I do." It seemed as though someone else were speaking the words. She did not understand her own mind at the moment. Hadn't she been longing for his touch for a month now? Hadn't she been missing it, craving it? He reached for her again, gingerly, tentatively, fearfully even. It was so strange. Even on their first night together they had not been so unsteady and bashful. Indeed, they had not been able to sate themselves, had stripped every inch of the other bare with lustful abandon, had not stopped until they had explored and committed to memory every minute detail of the other's body. Now they were slow, awkward, unsure.

He reached for her white cotton shirt and pulled it over her head, discarding it. Artanis struggled against the urge to cover herself with her hands and, instead, reached out tentatively to draw his waist within the circle of her arms and he, gingerly, almost as though he were frightened, cupped a firm breast in his hand. He hissed then, shuddering and closing his eyes and she knew by it that he desired her, physically at least. Frantically almost, more because she could not stand for him to do it than that she wanted to be naked, she reached down and unbuttoned her breeches, pushing them off. His hands went to his belt, and she heard the buckle clatter to the floor as he pulled it off, his breeches soon following. His hands were still shaking, she noted.

Almost mechanically they moved to the bed and she lay down, her body stiff, swallowing hard as her head touched the pillows. He moved overtop her and she hissed with discomfort at the weight of him, a weight she had never before minded, her palms pressed up against his chest. He made some sort of effort to kiss her, first on the lips, then on her neck, but it was very strange, fumbling, as though there was no feeling left in him. She felt his hand touch her and flinched because it hurt, for she was not in the least bit aroused, and then, to her great shock, she felt something else, she felt _it_, pressing there. They had gone far before; they had never ever gone _that_ far.

"Bind with me?" He gasped, looking into her eyes.

"W…with no ceremony, no rings, no vows…" she stammered.

"It is not uncommon," he replied, his voice trembling. They must. They must bind or he would lose her…he would never feel anything for her again, maybe never feel anything for anyone ever again.

But Artanis looked into his eyes and saw them filled with fear, something she had never before seen in him, and she knew then why his touch brought her no joy this night; this was not Celeborn, or else not the Celeborn that she loved.

"Please…" he whispered, a strangled whisper.

"Celeborn…" she said, her lip trembling, tears starting in her eyes because it hurt her so very much to say it. "I don't think it is supposed to feel like this." Those words seemed to take all of the life from him as suddenly as a gust of wind might disperse the autumn leaves and he collapsed, his head against her chest. She could not see his face, but she could feel the wetness of tears against her skin and the shuddering of silent sobs, and suddenly she no longer feared his touch, for he was here now and not that other-seeming person. She clasped his head to her, her hands in his hair, silver the color of a comet's tail. She had never seen him so vulnerable and she held him, comforted him as best as she was able for she loved him, she loved him with all her heart, with all of her fea, with everything that she was. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks and in their hearts they both knew that it was finished.

Sometime between midnight and morning they could find no more tears to shed and Celeborn rose. Wordlessly pulling on his breeches, he slid one of the glass-paneled doors open and dropped down from the veranda, walking out barefoot into a moonbeam of pure white snow. Artanis donned her breeches and her cotton shirt and, clutching her arms tightly about herself, strode out after him, coming to a stop beside him.

They stood in silence for a long while and then she turned to him and, in a hoarse whisper said, "say it, the name that you gave me; call me your Galadriel." He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and gave no answer into the unspeaking silence. In that moment she knew with complete certainty what her heart had feared: he did not love her anymore.

Silently she turned, walking back in her own footsteps to the house. The tea had gone cold.

* * *

><p>It was for Finrod's sake that they deemed it appropriate to feign happiness and contentment for now, for Felagund had been anticipating them for many years and, despite what had passed between themselves, they both still loved him dearly as a friend and brother. And so, for his sake, they would smile and laugh and make merry for a while until they must tell him why they had come. The both of them knew that it would only be for a short while, for he must be told that Thingol knew of the Silmarils and Artanis knew at last in her heart of hearts what she had decided: that she would tell Thingol of the kinslaying even though her brothers and cousins forbade it. But there was no grim foreboding in her heart now, for she had already lost that which was most dear to her and, in the face of that, the loss of honor, of pride, or status, of security seemed so monumentally trivial.<p>

"Artanis, Celeborn!" Finrod came charging out of the gates in a fashion somewhat reminiscent of the over exuberant way that Luthien's hounds greeted her after a long absence. He embraced them warmly, first together, and then, finding that his arms would not wrap entirely around them both, separately.

"Artanis my beloved sister!" He cried, wrapping her in a hug that forced the wind from her lungs.

"Your only sister," she pointed out gasping for breath as he released her, but she was hardly in the mood for such humor. For her brother suspected nothing she could see. As ever, worldly and aged as he was, he was possessed of a certain naiveté regarding those he deemed good friends. Many times had it sparked arguments between him and her when that goodwill of his was directed at their cousins. Now that it was directed at her, she felt as though she were the most wretched of creatures who would soon destroy that happiness. But she had decided and there was not a creature alive who could sway her from that choice now that heartbreak drove her.

"Celeborn, my dearest friend!" She saw Celeborn wince at the force with which Finrod has slapped him on the back.

"And…" Finrod said, stepping back so that he might see them better, examining them with an appraising eye, "Yes, you make a very handsome couple indeed!" He grinned. "I take it that things are going well between you?" He turned and walked towards the gates.

"Very well indeed," said Celeborn jovially, "unless Artanis has any complaints."

"No, I have no complaints" she said with a smile. "We are very happy." She finished with a laugh that felt as hollow as Nargothrond's half-finished halls. Her heart beat slowly in her chest like a drum. She had thought no lie could hurt worse than the one she had been keeping already. She was wrong.

"Tell me, did you have a pleasant trip?" Finrod asked. "You cannot imagine how eagerly I have awaited your arrival. What could be better than having my sister and my dearest friend visit me all at once?" But more words poured out of his mouth before they could answer him as they passed within to the entryway. "Is it not lovely?" He asked, his voice heightened with excitement. The hall had the semblance of Menegroth but with something of a Noldorin bent to it. The pillars were tall stone trees, just like in Menegroth, with boughs of gold and leaves of gemstones. Yet the floors were not earth, but tiles of white and obsidian glass, polished so brightly that they might have been mirrors and Galadriel and Celeborn could see their faces vividly reflected back at them.

Nargothrond had not quite the wealth of wildlife that Menegroth had yet still, here and there, rabbits and squirrels darted about. They passed through room after room, watching the elves hard at work. Much of Nargothrond was yet incomplete and there were some rooms that were only mere stone yet. But everywhere golden lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating the work, and Finrod bid them stop many times to observe the carving of a relief or the painting of a fresco.

"I feel almost as if I were within a museum of art," Artanis said.

"Then my project is succeeding!" Finrod exclaimed. "Oh, and Celeborn, we have prepared all that Thingol asked for, the maps and charts, the ledgers. I shall send them all back with you. I hope that I shall secure your positive recommendation. Now come!" His enthusiasm was contagious and they could not help but smile.

"But perhaps you are cold, for it is winter." He said half to himself and then called for one of the elves that stood nearby. "Gildor, warm capes and hot spiced wine for my guests if you please." The elf nodded and ran off to do his lord's bidding as they moved into the throne room.

It was not a replica of Menegroth but it was similar in style, like a living forest, two great trees canopying Finrod's throne, which was built from a massive piece of driftwood that had been polished, and carved, and made beautiful. Yet the trees here, in straight rows, seemed more orderly than those in Menegroth, which seemed to sprawl all over the place and, as Artanis walked amongst them the realization came over her suddenly.

"Lorien, it is Lorien," she said, turning to Finrod. He smiled in confirmation.

"It is indeed." He affirmed, "the gardens of Aman," he explained to Celeborn as the servant came bustling in bearing steaming goblets of spiced wine, two thick wool capes over his arm. They took the offerings gratefully and Artanis smiled as she sipped the warm sweet wine. "You should have seen her when she used to dance there. The Valar themselves could not have been more splendid," Finrod remarked to Celeborn with a grin.

"I imagine she was magnificent," Celeborn said politely and Artanis felt her heart break just a little more at his words. It was beginning to sink in now, that she would not have him. That she would be forced to endure the pain of watching him marry someone else, that he would kiss another's lips, that another woman would bear his children, would smile with him, laugh with him, live with him. Her throat felt unusually tight.

"But, I have one more surprise for you!" Finrod said with the giddiness of a child and as if on cue, from behind a pillar stepped two elves with long blonde hair bearing such a startling resemblance to Galadriel and Finrod that Celeborn knew they must be related. Indeed, one of them looked vaguely familiar.

"Aegnor has not yet arrived but he will be joining us as well," Finrod told them.

"Angrod! Orodreth!" Artanis cried joyfully, stepping forward to embrace her smiling relatives.

"I missed you sister!" Angrod cried, refusing yet to let her loose from his arms. "And Orodreth hardly remembers you. Certainly, I had to remedy that."

"Oh my," she laughed. "I was not expecting a family reunion! Celeborn," she said, turning towards him, "My brother Angrod and his son, my nephew Orodreth."

"The prince of Doriath, Celeborn of the trees," Angrod said with a smile, stepping forward to grasp the Sinda's hand. "We have met before, though only briefly. It is good to see you again."

"Likewise," Celeborn replied. "Though I must admit that I do not remember you well, I am grateful for this chance to become reacquainted as well as to meet your son." He turned towards Finrod. "And, may I offer you my most heartfelt congratulations Finrod. Nargothrond is splendid," said Celeborn sincerely. "Thingol will be most impressed when I show him the drawings."

"I certainly hope so. I am, after all, deeply indebted to him in more ways than one," Finrod said with a smile.

"There is no debt among friends," Celeborn assured him. "But, as much as I would very much like to speak of all that has occurred since your departure from Menegroth Finrod, I fear that, regrettably, there are matters that we must discuss, unpleasant matters." And so Finrod had had his happiness for a brief while but Celeborn did not mean to let him have it forever. The Noldo's brow creased in worry.

"Of course," he said, and the manner in which he said it was more reminiscent of how a vassal would address his liege lord than a friend address his friend. "Artanis…" Celeborn shook his silver head.

"She already knows. But perhaps it would be prudent for Angrod to join us." Finrod nodded. He had gone from ebullient to deathly somber in the matter of a second. "Very well then. Oropher," he nodded at his nephew, "why don't you show your Aunt the gardens."

"I am very sorry to have to do this Finrod," she heard Celeborn saying as Orodreth took her hand and led her away, but she felt no fear now, no worry over retribution, only the dull and hollow aching that had preoccupied her heart for the past few days.

* * *

><p>"How very like her," Finrod spat, "to tell him everything else except that which implicates her. She only said nothing of the kinslaying or of the curse of Mandos because, as ever, she would absolve herself from all guilt." They were in the safety of his chambers now and both of the sons of Finarfin were boiling over with anger, though it was not directed at Celeborn, who had just told them that Doriath had learned of the Silmarils from Artanis, but at each other, for what Celeborn had told them had reopened doubts and arguments that had long lain dormant.<p>

"This is your doing!" Angrod shouted, seething, his body trembling in rage. "Did you see the way that he looked when he spoke of her. Did you see his eyes – lifeless, dead? Whatever they may say, I know the truth. I looked into his eyes and there was no love there. She will lose everything, EVERYTHING because of you and your selfishness! I have said it before and I will say it again. We MUST tell them of the kinslaying."

"Me?" Finrod cried. "How is any of this my fault brother? It was not I who drew sword in Alqualonde."

"No, oh no you did not," Angrod laughed, a cruel laugh. "You stood by and watched mother's family be murdered. How does that make you feel Finrod? Does it help you sleep at night to know that you, at least, did not draw your sword?"

"And you drew yours and she drew hers and what of it? You slew your father's kin!"

"They were in the wrong," Angrod said firmly, slamming his fist down upon the table in Finrod's chambers. "Had we not slain them they would have slain many others."

"And is that how _you_ sleep at night? Is that your justification for what you have done?" Finrod retorted.

"She is _not_ your pawn to order about as you choose Finrod. The keeping of this secret has lain as a great burden upon her. Greater indeed than on any of us, for she alone of the Noldor resides in Menegroth and her heart is given in love to a Sindarin prince. "

"No? Well she is certainly Celeborn's pawn," Finrod spat bitterly. "And I do not force her to keep that secret, she keeps it of her own will."

"You have used her to your advantage!" Angrod cried angrily, his face coloring even redder, if that was possible, "You knew he loved her! You knew she loved him! By the Valar!" He swore an oath. "Long did I wonder why you felt comfortable leaving her in Menegroth. You have been using them against each other! You knew that she would say nothing of the kinslaying if she feared it would turn Celeborn's heart away from her. And you thought that he would pursue the matter no further if her love hung in the balance. Well you had better fear now brother, for his heart has turned and she no longer has incentive to remain silent. Indeed, I would wager all of the wealth that you brought out of Tirion that, even this very moment, she is contemplating telling him everything."

"But you did not count on that did you? You did not anticipate that his feelings might turn against her. Well, pray tell, what _did_ you think, brother? Celeborn is no fool. Did you not think that he suspected something from the start; that he would forever be content to live with a woman who he knew was keeping a secret from him? And what of her visions? Were you secretly glad for the pain those brought her too? Did you think that if Thingol saw the way that those visions tormented her that he would think her mad, that he would take her word less seriously? I can assure you that is not the case," he shook his finger in his older brother's face, "Thingol has taken her very, very seriously."

"She brings that pain on herself!" Finrod cried. "Falling down and wailing like a child because she has bad dreams!" He scoffed. "And no, I am not pleased by them, for it seems that they tormented her so greatly that she was no longer able to withhold the secret of the Silmarils."

Angrod's nostrils flared. "You make fun of her for them, you tease her for it, you discount them. Yet what she sees is the truth Finrod, and you know it." Angrod circled his older brother angrily. "Do you think I don't know by now? Do you think I haven't figured out _why_ you dismiss what she sees? What is it that you have seen, brother? What is it that frightens you so? What vision could haunt _you_ that is so terrible that the only way you can escape it is to believe that all visions are false?"

A great shiver ran through Finrod and he turned away. "It is not for selfish reasons that I have implored her, implored you, to keep this secret," he said. "Have you forgotten what the Feanorians are capable of?" His voice was softer now, still firm, but not as angry. "They have never liked us. Even now they disparage us as tellers of tales, servants of Thingol. If she tells them…is that what you want?" He hissed in a low voice. "Do you want to bring war upon us? Do you want to see fighting and bloodshed between the sons of Finwe, between the princes of the Noldor and Menegroth? Do you want to see another kinslaying? Would it make our sister happier to see us dead, to see Celeborn killed?"

Angrod clenched his jaw. "We have had this fight many times Finrod. My answer has not changed. Too long have we pampered our cousins and catered to their wishes and desires. If they were man enough to kill then they should certainly be able to face disappointment. Thingol is a king in his own right. How is it your part to decide whether or no he would go to war? And those who would fight will fight. That is their decision, not yours. You let your guilt rule you."

"And you let your soft heart rule you," Finrod retorted.

"I have never been told that it is a fallacy to have a heart," Angrod replied defensively but his seemingly innocuous words awoke a rage in his brother's heart.

"A heart? Love? Love is weak!" Finrod bellowed, his voice ripe with venom. "Is that not a lesson you should have learned by now? Was mother's love strong enough to keep us in Aman? Was our love for her strong enough to prevent us from leaving? What of Nerdanel? Was her love strong enough to retain Feanor? Could Turgon's love save Elenwe from the ice? By the Valar Angrod! He was right there, separated from her by mere inches of frozen water and his love, his great, wonderful, fantastic love did nothing! It was powerless! Was Feanor's love for his sons strong enough to prevent him from condemning them to a life of pain and suffering? Was it strong enough to keep him from murdering outright the youngest of his children? HIS OWN SON! Was Artanis's love for Celeborn strong enough to retain his? Already she has lost him! Love is weak! Love is nothing! Security is the only preserver of peace!" He stood, his chest heaving in anger, in outrage, and Angrod stood, silenced in the wake of his brother's outburst.

"How much happier would Artanis be," Finrod said, his voice losing its edge, becoming kinder, "if she were to remain in Nargothrond. There is no reason now for her to return to Menegroth, now that Celeborn has cast her aside. Why must she continually pursue that which cannot work? She will be happier if her endeavors have goals that are possible. She can stay here and be happy. We can find her a husband of her own kind, one who will love her, who will give her everything that she desires: lands, a kingdom, fine treasures. I swear to you that my only wish is to protect her. She will be happier if she is not clinging to a love that is doomed to fail. Let her find love with another."

"Then perhaps Amarie has found love in the arms of another," Angrod said, his mouth thin. The simple words destroyed Finrod's argument in a single stroke and he sat down heavily in a chair as though the wind had been knocked from him. Angrod turned on his heel, not an ounce of sympathy left in his heart for his brother.

"I will go to our sister now to provide her what comfort I may, and, when they return to Menegroth in the coming weeks I shall go with them and take Aegnor with me if he is willing. I mean to tell Thingol everything, if Artanis will not. It is your choice whether you will go with us or not." And with that he left Finrod alone.


	13. Chapter 13: The Tolling of the Bell

**The Tolling of the Bell**

Doriath: 13th Chapter

* * *

><p>"No man is an island,<br>Entire of itself,  
>Every man is a piece of the continent,<br>A part of the main.

Any man's death diminishes me,  
>Because I am involved in mankind,<br>And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;  
>It tolls for thee."<p>

– _Albert Camus_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thanks for the reviews guys! Please don't forget to leave one if you have time and enjoy the story. Your questions and comments are always very valuable and helpful.

* * *

><p>It had been many years since all of Finarfin's children had been gathered in the same place and the first that they had traveled to Menegroth together and, at any other time, Artanis would have been overjoyed at such a thing, yet now it was with the beating of her heart quickening in her chest that their traveling party approached the gates of Menegroth, for the noose had slipped about her neck and already it was tightening, threatening to choke the life's breath from her and a great foreboding had awakened in her heart; for she knew that the time was at hand when that noose would at last be drawn closed.<p>

Angrod had made their excuses to Celeborn and what exactly he had told the prince she did not know, but he was suspicious, no doubt, though he had the tact to say nothing of it. Too many times had they had that conversation. She dared not look into his eyes, frightened of what she would see there. She had lost his love and next she stood to lose her home. She felt as though there were a clock that had begun to run out its time since the first moment that she had crossed into the borders of Doriath and now the short minutes were tick, tick, ticking away, her time drawing near and she powerless to stop it. Soon enough the bell would sound the hour and any hope she had of redemption was entirely dependent upon her being the one to toll the bell, to decide the hour in which it should ring.

She drew in a deep shuddering breath for before them at last stood the gates of Menegroth, stretching high into the walls of the cliff. But they had not come upon the kingdom unawares, or so it seemed, for standing before the gates now were a great contingent of guards and Galathil, waiting.

"Kinsmen, well met!" Galathil called as they drew near. "We have heard from our Queen that you journeyed with our Prince and with your sister as well. Glad we are that your hearts have been filled with the desire to visit with your sister for as your sister's keeper this also grants us the honor of your company, which we do most heartily cherish and enjoy."

"Hail herald of Thingol!" Finrod Felagund called in reply. "Long have I dwelt in my unfinished city yearning to look once more upon those incomparable halls of Menegroth and of the fair people who dwell within them. You do us great honor with your welcome." And drawing near he dismounted and embraced Galathil.

"This is well," said Galathil, though there was some tone in his voice that awakened a sense of foreboding in Artanis. "But I must regret that my brother, Prince Celeborn, has been called away on urgent business with the King and will therefore not be able to join you immediately, however, "let us pass now within the capital city, for there are many friends who are longing to see you once more and we are preparing a great feast in your honor to be served at midnight and which we plan to enjoy even until the dawn breaks upon us."

It was agreed and then they all passed within and Finrod sighed to look upon the beauty of Menegroth, the very inspiration that had quickened his heart with yearning to establish his own kingdom in its image and rule it by his own hand. But Artanis walked with uncertain steps, though she had her brothers at her side, for a great fear had awakened within her and she felt more now as though she were entering a prison than a palace. For the guards of Menegroth, and these were no ordinary guards, she noticed, but a squadron of elite royal guards, stayed unusually close to her and her brothers.

"Forgive me," Celeborn said to them, having just taken quiet council with his brother, "for Thingol has summoned me to some private council and very suddenly. If it is meet with you, Galathil shall escort you to the hall." So saying, he stepped forward, drawing Galadriel to him and placing a chaste kiss upon her brow, a show of respect for the benefit of her brothers, before he turned and swept away to see to Thingol's business. But Artanis trembled in her heart, for it seemed to her that Galathil and the guards were not there so much to escort them and do them honor so much as they were there to ensure that they did not stray.

And on a time, as they passed to Thingol's great hall, Finrod and Aegnor began to speak to Galathil of the architecture of Menegroth but, while they were in conversation, Artanis drew Angrod aside, growing impatient and saying: "Brother, have you forgotten the words that passed between us when we last spoke or the promises that we made to one another? For each day that I guard this secret weighs upon me like a millstone about my neck and I am almost found out! Morgoth's lies and, even worse, the truths he tells about our people must have reached Menegroth at last, else they would treat us less like prisoners and more like guests. If we speak first then it may well be that some sort of friendship between our house and Thingol's may be preserved, yet if we are found out by other means than our own words there will be no mercy and no forgiveness for us, for the king grows wroth and in his anger lies a paranoia that will not easily be put to rest."

"It may well be that you fear not because you who have the friendship of the sons of Fingolfin and your own house besides do not stand to lose very much, but I beg you recall that I am personally invested in Doriath and in her people and I have no other home now save this city. Whatever may go ill for you shall be ten times worse for me," she continued, her eyes, quick with worry. "Though Celeborn may no longer love me, I cannot even look at him without my heart being overwhelmed by guilt so strong I can barely stand it! Even his touch I cannot bear, for it is the touch of one deceived, and one for whom I still bear great love! I still hope to retain what happiness I have built here, a life of my own choosing that is not dictated by the infighting that plagues the houses of the Noldor and that is not dictated by the choices of others. Let us speak and make the evil known so that we might move forward and put this behind for how can I move forward with my life here while this terrible secret yet remains guarded?"

Then Angrod grew concerned for he knew Thingol not well but much had he heard of the king's legendary anger and he worried that in her desperation his sister was grasping at straws for it seemed to him unlikely in the utmost that Thingol would permit her to remain here once the terrible secret was laid bare. He thought that this she had understood, that knowing the secret, Thingol would certainly cast her out, yet Artanis had ever been strong of will and perhaps in this too she thought that if she willed hard enough she could make it so.

And yet Angrod knew that no words he could say would make this clear to her or dissuade her from her path and so he took her arm, saying gently, "I have not forgotten sister, nor do I mean to deceive you, indeed, it was for that very purpose that I persuaded our brothers to journey here with me, as you know, though they know not the depth of my true purpose. And I am not ignorant of the rumors that have been spreading for recently they have reached even as far as Nargothrond, where I have been dwelling these past few years with Finrod. I beg that you not doubt me, for I have devised a plan and if all goes accordingly you shall be seen as most blameless of all. Only give me but a little more time and I swear to you that I will tell Thingol everything."

"But I am not blameless," Artanis said, "and I would not wish to appear so. It is the truth that I wish to tell and not one more lie!" Yet at that moment they could converse no further for they had arrived at the great hall.

Despite his display of proper and courtly affection, the Prince of Doriath was anything but calm and it was with great fear in his heart that he first walked, then ran, to the chambers of the king for only on one other occasion had he received such an urgent message from Thingol and that had been at the beginning of the Battle of Beleriand and he wondered what evil was afoot and if it meant that he might have to take up axe and armor once more in defense of his kingdom. Moreover, the behavior of Artanis and her brothers had been extremely peculiar, though he had not questioned them on it.

And he saw indeed that Thingol was wroth and, more than that, nearly sick with worry, for the instant that Celeborn entered his king's chambers Thingol stood, his actions quick with anxiety, his eyes glimmering with anger as he paced about his chambers, restless, a letter clutched tightly in his hand, which he thrust at Celeborn.

"How very worried I was," the King said, his voice a husky whisper, "when I received this letter and knew that you were alone with the children of Finarfin. Verily, I did fear for your very life. Yet glad I am that I received this letter only mere hours before you returned, for my anxiety was but brief. We have had word from Cirdan at the Havens in reply to the letter you sent him. Many long days did he spend in seeking out the information you requested and it seems he has discovered that these past 18 years I have been raising up a nest of vipers in my own house."

With trembling hand the King held out a letter and Celeborn took it from him, recognizing the blue wax seal of Cirdan, and he immediately felt his heart plummet to his shoes, for by Thingol's words and by Cirdan's seal he felt that he already knew what it would contain, what he had long suspected in the darkest corners of his mind. He unfolded the letter then and read it carefully, then once more to be sure that he had understood completely, bypassing the opening pleasantries.

_Rumors have reached us at the mouth of the Sirion regarding the intentions of the Noldor in coming to this land and their actions taken upon leaving Valinor. The sight of the Noldor troubled me at once and I saw clearly writ upon them malice and evil, though I know not from whence it came. _

_Here we have heard that a certain doom or curse lies upon the Noldor from which they cannot escape for it was cast upon them by the Valar themselves, whose orders they directly denied in leaving Valinor. It is said that the Teleri made efforts to stop the Noldor from leaving and denied them the use of their ships whereupon the Noldor turned their blades upon our Telerin brethren and slew them in cold blood: men, women, and children alike. Not content merely to take their vengeance upon the Teleri, they have come to this continent with the intention not just of fighting Morgoth, but of exterminating the Telerin race in its entirety, including the Sindar, and they have come here with the intention of perpetrating race warfare. _

_ I know not whether these tales are true or false but what I can say with finality and assuredness is that they have been spread through malice, though I know not whose malice this be. I must confide in you that I believe the jealousy and infighting amongst the houses of the princes of the Noldor may at last have come to a head as we long feared. And it may be that each of these rumors is true in part with each house of the Noldor propagating the version that best suits his purposes while damaging his rival houses. _

_ I write to you to warn you, and to beg you to take caution, for I know that you have been friendly with the children of Finarfin and though I know not truly what part they play in this, it is certain that they carry blame of some sort, as do all of the Noldorin princes and I myself cannot help but believe that they too lie under the shadow of murder. _

_I beg you forgive the cursory nature of this message for it was sent in haste as I have had dire misgivings of late since receiving your last missive and a great foreboding seems to come upon me as dense and heavy as a fog from the sea. My sole intention was to get this information to you as quickly as I was able, for your health and continued prosperity is my constant and abiding wish._

_Your humble and obedient servant,_

_Cirdan, _

_Lord of the Falathrim_

_Lord of Falas, Eglarest, and Brithombar_

Celeborn felt as though the very air had been sucked from his chest. Cirdan's warning struck him as most fell indeed, for amongst the hot tempered Sindarin kings, Cirdan alone was unshakeable in his placidity and he could well guess that for this very reason Thingol himself was set so ill at ease. They were given to know then that at least some part of these rumors must be true for Cirdan would not have written to them of idle concerns and it mattered not which parts were true and which false, for they were all equally abhorrent.

Celeborn raised a finger to his lips, wondering if he had only but a little while earlier placed them upon the brow of one who had slain his kin and when he took his fingers away he found that they were trembling. It was not the first time that he had heard theses rumors but hearing them from Cirdan himself lent them a serious amount of credence. And now that he found it possible to believe them true, all of Artanis's strange behavior seemed to make sense and Celeborn felt that he was putting the pieces of a gruesome puzzle together, finding, to his horror, that they fell into place with terrifying precision.

"What shall we do?" He asked Thingol, finding his throat dry, a great pounding as of a hammer in his head, smashing against the interior of his skull. He knew not what to think, was unable to feel.

"Artanis may have told us the truth, but it was only the truth in part," Thingol said, anger lurking like magma just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at every moment. "There is yet much that she is concealing from us and I will know the truth in its entirety. No more will I be denied. The children of Finarfin will answer me and they will answer me in full now even if it must be by force that the answer is wrung from their lips." And so saying he took up his great sword, Aranruth, in it scabbard and buckled the belt about his waist. "I will not ask you to draw your blade," the king said, turning to his nephew.

But Celeborn's eyes were hard with anger and he did not hesitate, saying: "My loyalty to you and to this kingdom has always been above reproach and so it remains even now."

"Then I bid you to bring your blade here whilst I summon my personal guard and together shall we go forth to the feast that we have prepared though, alas, we will not go in friendship," Thingol said to the prince and when Celeborn returned to him the guard had already arrived, with Mablung at their head and Galathil, Celeborn's brother and Thingol's herald was there as well, having only just come from the great hall. Then they all set out for the feast they had prepared, but not in friendship as they had anticipated.

When they arrived there it was to find that all who were gathered were in the midst of great merriment, for this feast had been convened as a display of friendship, a time in which lingering anger about the keeping of the secret of the Silmarils and of Finwe's death was meant to be put to rest, a feast born of hope and the promise of making amends. Yet a great silence came over the immense crowd gathered there for all could see as their king entered that he was wroth with great anger and his great sword was buckled about his waist, his hand on the hilt as though ready to draw it at any moment. And at his side was Celeborn, his prince, and he too bore in hand his great battle-axe and upon his face a look closer to loathing than anything they had heretofore seen. Behind them marched the Imperial guard, led by Mablung, their cloaks of midnight blue hanging long down their backs, their black eagle feathers in their hair and their weapons in hand.

Then did a great cry rise up from the Sindar for never before had anyone dared bring a weapon into the great hall of Thingol and they wondered at what should have occurred to cause such a thing. The children of Finarfin leapt to their feet then, like rabbits sniffed out by a hound, for they believed themselves found out and all of their plans and carefully crafted strategies crumbled to ashes at their feet. And Artanis dropped her gaze, not daring to look at Celeborn, fearful the terrible apathy would have turned to dreadful hate.

With flashing eyes and floating hair did Thingol approached Finrod, towering over him and staring down from his great height with a gaze that might have been enough even to send Morgoth himself fleeing in terror and then did Galathil call forth saying: "Rise and stand all of you gathered here, for this is Elu Thingol, called Elwe Singollo, King of Doriath, King of the Sindar, King of the Teleri, High-king and Lord of Beleriand." His voice seemed to reverberate off of the stone walls of the palace until it faded away in an echo and in that ensuing silence Thingol at last spoke to Finrod.

"I'll have you done to me, kinsman, to conceal so great matters from me. For now I have learned of all the evil deeds of the Noldor." His voice was deathly quiet and yet it commanded the attention of all.

But Finrod answered: "What ill have I done you, lord? Or what evil deed have the Noldor done in all your realm to grieve you? Neither against your kingship nor against any of your people have they thought evil or done evil."

"I marvel at you, son of Earwen," said Thingol, "that you would come to the board of your kinsman thus red-handed from the slaying of your mother's kin, and yet say naught in defense, nor yet seek any pardon!" And at his words a great wailing arose for, hearing their king say it, the people at last believed these rumors to be true and many fell down in anguish, mourning for their Telerin brethren.

Then Finrod was greatly troubled, but he was silent, for he could not defend himself, save by bringing charges against the other princes of the Noldor; and that he was loath to do before Thingol. But in Angrod's heart the memory of the words of Caranthir welled up again in bitterness, for when Angrod had first visited Menegroth and brought forth Thingol's message to the Noldor, telling them where they might settle, Caranthir had grown wroth and he had rebuked the children of Finarfin saying: _Let not the sons of Finarfin run hither and thither with their tales to this Dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And though they be come indeed to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is a lord of the Noldor, though their mother be of other kin._

Remembering these words and the way in which his cousin had scorned him for being half of Telerin blood, Angrod could control his heart no longer and he cried: "Lord, I know not what lies you have heard, nor whence; but we came not red-handed. Guiltless we came forth, save maybe of folly, to listen to the words of fell Feanor, and become as if besotted with wine, and as briefly. No evil did we do on our road, but suffered ourselves great wrong; and forgave it. For this we are named tale-bearers to you and treasonable to the Noldor: untruly as you know, for we have of our loyalty been silent before you, and thus earned your anger. But now these charges are no longer to be borne, and the truth you shall know."

Then Thingol passed to his throne and the children of Finarfin sat at his feet and at length Angrod moved to speak but Artanis stayed him, placing her hand upon his arm and saying: "Much do I appreciate your kindness brother, but this is my tale to tell, for it is I who have lived in Menegroth alongside Thingol's people and thus it is I who bears the greater part of the blame. I cannot accept your mercy at the expense of my conscience or of their justice."

It was the most difficult thing that she had ever done and her hands trembled worse than they had even when she had crossed the Helcaraxe. Except now she had not the excuse of the cold to give for her trembling. Her heart pounded within her chest like a hammer upon an anvil and, for a brief moment, she felt sure that her chest would explode from the pressure, that she had not been made with enough strength to withstand this. And she felt profoundly alone, more alone than she had ever felt, for here she was, about to betray the dearest friends she had ever had in her entire life and, worse than that, to make them aware that her betrayal was not sudden, but was built upon a lie that she had been cultivating since first she arrived in their home. At last the poisoned vine was bearing fruit.

Turning then to Thingol, it was with great difficulty that she raised her head to meet his eyes, for her body felt heavier than all the stone of this cave and she spoke saying, "my king, I spoke to you before of the Silmarils and of the deaths of the trees and of the slaying of Finwe, your dear friend, but as you now know, there is much that yet remains unspoken. And, as my brother has only just now said, the words that have reached your ears concerning the coming of the Noldor were spread maliciously though by whom we know not and though I must venture to guess from what I myself have heard that much of it is, indeed, lies as Angrod has said, it is with greatest regret that I must now impart to you that there is also much truth to be had in these rumors."

She turned to their right to see, standing at her father's left hand, Luthien, her best and most dear friend with tears in her eyes, understanding only that something was very wrong. Images flashed unbidden in her mind of how they had danced together beneath the moonlight and tears rose to her eyes. Most difficult of all, she looked to Melian's left to see Celeborn, dressed in his court attire. She still dared not meet his eyes yet it was as if her fea called out to his with an intensity that she had never before experienced. He looked much the same as the first night she had entered this hall. It was fitting somehow, as if things had come full circle at last. Then, she raised her head with what little remaining dignity she could muster and looked Thingol full in the eyes, confessing her guilt for all to hear.

"I ask only that you bear in mind that the blame for this lies on us Noldor alone. Of all those in Menegroth, none save ourselves was aware of this tale and none bear culpability save us." She stopped for a moment to collect herself before continuing, for she felt as though she would fall to pieces with each moment that passed.

"I did not tell you earlier," she continued, "though I found myself on the very verge of doing so, because I had been sworn to secrecy by the Noldorin princes. Yet I do not pretend that this is any excuse for my conduct for I know full well that it is not. In my heart of hearts I know that what truly restrained me was my own selfishness because I have loved my life here and loved my friends here and I did not wish to be exiled. Yet, I can no longer in good conscience keep the truth from you, knowing that every moment you are unaware of it you are placed in constant danger. This then is the truth, the whole and entire truth."

And having so said, she began the full and terrible tale saying thusly, "It is true what the rumors say: that the Valar themselves forbid us from leaving Aman and that we went forth in utter disregard for their command, driven by pride. Upon leaving Valinor, we did not depart separately from the Feanorians as I had previously told you. Indeed, we departed together and, upon reaching Alqualonde, we found that there was no way for us to cross the sea except in the boats of the Teleri. Yet, knowing that we had been forbidden to leave, the Teleri withheld their ships from us." She breathed deeply, for with the next words she spoke, she would not be surprised if they struck her dead where she stood.

"It was then that Feanor demanded that the Teleri surrender his ships to them. But still they refused and… Feanor drew his sword in great anger and struck a blow, beheading the harbor master in a single stroke." At those words a great shout rose up and she saw Celeborn raise his head at last, fear and incomprehension in his eyes as he looked at her. She dropped her gaze, her heart shattering into a thousand fragments, like a fragile glass dropped upon a floor. The cries grew louder and louder until, at last, Thingol bolted upright from his chair like lightening, his face as white as ice.

"SILENCE!" He commanded, the first time she had ever heard him shout so and then he turned furious eyes to her, speaking with a deathly quiet. "You," he pointed a quivering finger at her, "you will continue." And so she swallowed hard, her hands still quivering so that she could barely control herself and, mustering what strength she could find she continued.

"Feanor's sons followed his lead and drew their swords, Fingolfin and his sons as well," she said, her voice quavering now. "They slew the majority of the Teleri, not only those who withheld the ships, but women and children as well and women with children still in the womb, killing indiscriminately, as if they had gone entirely mad." Tears were running freely down her face now but she did not raise her hands to wipe them away. She stopped to collect herself before continuing.

"You began this story and now you must find the courage to finish it," Thingol said to her, his voice colder than she had ever heard it. "Look at me," he growled and she obeyed, raising her eyes to his face. "Continue," he commanded. Behind him she could see Melian and there was no kindness in her eyes either. "Tell me of your role in this perversion," he said.

"I drew my spear in defense of the Teleri," she said, though it seemed now a pitiful excuse. Kinslaying was kinslaying and it did not matter that it was not the Teleri she had slain.

"You defended the Teleri?" Thingol asked.

"I did. My brother's host arrived towards the end of the massacre and we were not entirely sure of the situation. Yet, we saw our mother's people being slaughtered and rushed to their aid. Finrod and Aegnor had no part in the killing. But Angrod and myself slew Feanor's soldiers."

"You killed Feanor and Fingolfin's men?" Thingol asked. She paused, swallowing.

"Yes, I did." She said.

"You killed another elf?" Thingol asked again, forcing her to repeat herself.

Yes." She said. Thingol paced to and fro, his movements full of kinetic energy as if he might reach out and strike her at any moment.

"How many?" He asked at last.

"Twelve." She said.

"How can you be sure?" He spat.

"I will never forget their faces," she said.

"If that is the only payment you must make on your debt then I have no pity in my heart for you and your ilk," Thingol said. "But you will continue, for now that I am at last hearing this long delayed tale I will have you tell it to the very last letter and I will allow you to delay no longer. Tell me of what happened after the Teleri were slain for you came across the Helcaraxe did you not?"

"That is true," she replied. "For during the battle there was great confusion indeed and my brothers and I and our father as well proceeded by land but Feanor's people had managed to take the ships of the Teleri and they proceeded by sea, and together we arrived at the land near the Helcaraxe. There, standing atop the great mountains of the waste of Araman we suddenly beheld a dark figure looking down upon the shore and we perceived this to be Mandos himself and from this figure ushered forth a loud voice, solemn and terrible, that bade us stand and give ear. Then all halted and stood still, and the voice cursed those of us who would not stay nor seek the doom and pardon of the Valar.

'Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Feanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever.

'Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain ye may be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken.'"

Then did Celeborn truly understand the words that Galadriel had spoken to him those years ago when first they began their courtship, imploring him not to ask her the reason but telling him that all things must be at his doing and that, as much as she might yearn to, whatever was to be between them could not be done by her hand.

"Hearing these words," Artanis said, "many repented of their actions and turned back towards Valinor to return to their homes and beg pardon of the Valar. Among these went Finarfin my father and though he begged me with tears in his eyes to return with him so that my mother need not lose all of her children at once, I denied him his wish and resolved to go forward as did my brothers.

Those of us who were determined to go forward then continued and at last we stood at the very mouth of the grinding ice itself and there did we stop and debate for a long while, for there were not enough ships to bear us all across the sea and to cross the ice appeared to us to be certain death. That night there sprang up a great mist and, when in the morning it cleared, we awoke to find that Feanor and his host had slipped away in the night. For a while we thought that he meant to return with some ships to ferry us across as well until one night from far off we saw a great fire and smoke rising to the sky from a far shore and we knew ourselves betrayed by Feanor. It was then that we were left with no choice but to cross the grinding ice and this we did, as I have previously told you, and now at last you have learned the full tale," she said. "And if I might make but one request of you, my king, it is this: I beg you, I beg of you," the words tumbled from her mouth. "Do not ever allow a Silmaril to pass into Doriath. The sons of Feanor will stop at nothing. They will slaughter each and every one of you in their quest to fulfill their oath."

"A Silmaril!" Thingol shouted, descending from his throne to stop before her and grasp her chin in his strong hand, hurting her. "Why should I fear letting a Silmaril pass my borders when already a snake has slithered in! I ought to have feared _you_! Instead I welcomed you, treated you as my kin, nurtured your friendship with my own daughter, made you an apprentice of my wife, fed you, clothed you, allowed my nephew to court you! YOU ARE FILTH!" He turned, his hand flying through the air, and he only managed to stop it a mere hair's breath away from her face, where he held it trembling as he stared at her with wild red rimmed eyes. She had no doubt that he had struck with the intention of hitting her, only restraining himself at the last moment.

"Do you have any IDEA of the damage that you people have done?" he shouted. There was no proper response and so Artanis and her brothers remained silent as he returned to his throne and sat.

Then did Angrod speak again, saying, "Wherefore should we that endured the Grinding Ice bear the name of kinslayers and traitors?"

"Yet the shadow of Mandos lies on you also," said Melian. But Thingol was long silent ere he spoke.

"Go now!" he said. "For my heart is hot within me. Later you may return, if you will, for I will not shut my doors forever against you, my kindred that were ensnared in an evil that you did not aid. With Fingolfin and his people also I will keep friendship, for they have bitterly atoned for such ill as they did. And in our hatred of the Power that wrought all this woe our griefs shall be lost. But hear my words! Never again in my ears shall be heard the tongue of those who slew my kin in Alqualonde! Nor in all my realm shall it be openly spoken, while my power endures. All the Sindar shall hear my command that they shall neither speak with the tongue of the Noldor nor answer to it. And all such as use it shall be held slayers of kin and betrayers of kin unrepentant."

The people dispersed then, like so many leaves scattered upon the breeze, and in the silence that followed, the children of Finarfin stood, the fire of the souls extinguished as a candle in a mine so that now they felt the poison of the choices they had made working upon them.

Then did Thingol turn to Celeborn, finding within his anger some modicum of pity for his nephew and said, "if you wish for a moment in private to speak to Galadriel before she leaves then I shall grant you that."

But Celeborn merely shook his head, an almost imperceptible movement, and said, "there is none called Galadriel here."


	14. Chapter 14: Kings of Sand and Stone

**Kings of Sand and Stone**

Doriath: 14th Chapter

* * *

><p>"Thus with my lips have I denounced you,<p>

while my heart, bleeding within me, called you tender names.  
>It was love lashed by its own self that spoke.<p>

It was pride half slain that fluttered in the dust.

It was my hunger for your love that raged from the housetop,

while my own love, kneeling in silence, prayed your forgiveness."

- Khali Gibran

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

**First**, as always, thanks to everyone who took the time to review. You guys are great and I really enjoy hearing from you! It is so helpful to have feedback. **Secondly**, this is the first chapter of the second part of this story, which stretches from chapters 14-24. The third and last part will go from chapter 25 to around chapter 31 or 32.

**Lastly,** this chapter and the next one deal with some pretty serious issues for several characters and some of the content is a little disturbing. I know this can be difficult but I hope you will understand that I am not doing this for shock value but because I genuinely believe in portraying realistic reactions to difficult situations. If this bothers anyone you are more than welcome to PM me and I will do my best to address your concerns.

* * *

><p>If he had ever anticipated that something like this would happen he might have expected that he would feel hurt, betrayed, furious, any number of emotions, but the one thing that he did feel was the one thing he could never have predicted: it was the dreary, trudging, boredom that seemed to plod from one day to the next so that a month seemed like a year, a week like a month, a day like a week, an hour like a day and his entire, interminable, immortal life a burden that stretched out beyond his ability to bear it.<p>

He knew that they were worried, all of them. Melian had taken to stopping by for tea on a frequent basis, Luthien was ever so careful as to invite him to all of her parties though he went to nearly none of them, Thingol had taken him hunting, and shooting, and even stopped by his chambers every so often just to pass the time. Galathil seemed more boisterous than normal, Beleg and Mablung had tried their hardest to get him drunk on more than one occasion, and cousin Oropher, normally so hot headed and sulky, had taken to frequenting the baths with him. His time was certainly occupied, but that did not make it any more full. He found himself more surrounded by friends nowadays than at any other point in his life and yet, even in the midst of all of them, he felt as though everything were so very dull that he could hardly stand it.

She had left a few things behind on the night that she fled with her brothers, nothing much, only small things that had been forgotten in the haste of packing. He had not returned to his chambers until after she had gone and then he had found them, an elegant wooden hairbrush that had fallen beneath the bed, a diamond hairpin in the rug, a veil in a drawer, a yellow rose he had given her, preserved. He had burned them all in the fireplace while Galathil watched, a concerned look on his normally cheerful face. Celeborn did not want his brother's pity.

"Perhaps you will regret having destroyed them," his younger brother had ventured to say. "There is sometimes good, even in that which is bad." But Celeborn had only shaken his head.

"When a healer draws out poison do they leave even a drop behind?" He had asked Galathil in return.

The monotony of his days had only been broken by the leaving of the dwarves. He had tried to prevent it for so long, poured so much of his own time and energy into this project that he would have expected to feel disappointed at the least, angered at the worst. And yet it had only barely managed to intrigue him. He stood by, watching in silence as they packed up their tools, the instruments of their pride. He had nothing to say to them, for much bitterness had passed between the dwarves of Nogrod and the elves of Menegroth and the wounds were now too deep and too old to heal. And they had nothing to say to him for the same reason. But he oversaw the process nevertheless, for Thingol had asked it of him.

A few hours later they were gone and it was as if they had never been there. The fires of the forges were clean and cold, as if they had never been lit. How easy it was, he thought, to erase the traces of an existence. How simple to make it appear as if someone had never been. But the forgetting was long. Memories could not be wiped away like soot. A heart could not be extinguished like fire. Water might quench a sword but it could not quench a mind.

His days were as empty and dull as his nights. It was difficult to sleep at first, as it so often is when one is accustomed to sleeping beside someone and then, suddenly, finds them so utterly gone. His body seemed to have forgotten how to manage it on his own. And he could not even fill those sleepless hours with thoughts, for he had none, none of any significance, none of any importance. Nothing seemed to pique his curiosity; nothing seemed to draw his interest.

It was winter again and the woods were painted white. The birds were the only color in the grey basin of the world. Red cardinals. Bluejays. He had killed a bear, a great and ferocious bear. Its hot blood had run steaming red out onto the white snow. There was too much blood but his hand had seemed to move of its own volition, the axe flashing down again and again and again. He had never killed like that. The pelt was rather more ruined than was suitable but he had it made into a rug nevertheless. It wasn't much of a feat. His chambers still felt cold. And the bear's head, glassy eyed, stared down at him now from the wall. _I shouldn't have killed it, _he thought to himself. Everything grew dull in death.

Sometimes he still found one of her golden hairs hidden in the bed and it was only at those times that he felt any real anger. It was irrational, he knew, but he could not help but think that she had done it intentionally to disturb him. That even from Nargothrond she was tormenting him. He burned those too, when he found them. The smell of hair in a fire was distinctly unpleasant. It reminded him of death. All his life he would never forget the way the earth had smelled after the Battle of Beleriand

There was a pretty girl that he used to know who worked for a baker and he had sought her out a time or two, toying with her briefly in abandoned corridors or hidden chambers. She had smelled of flour and cleanliness. At times she seemed intimidated by him. Their social strata were so very different as to be jarring and she seemed nervous when she was with him because he was, after all, the Prince of Doriath. She was a mere baker's apprentice. He had ejaculated on her stomach once. It had been an accident, he hadn't meant to, and she had looked at him with fear. So he had given it up quickly, for it had not cured his insomnia and, besides, he nearly felt as though he were forcing himself upon her, as if she felt that she could not say no. And, after all, he still felt nothing.

A murderess, a genocide – he had not expected that. A thousand upon a thousand times had he pondered what her secret must be. Yet he had always assumed her innocent of blame, presumed her culpable of nothing more than misplaced loyalty, of protecting brothers, and cousins, and kin. Yet her own mother's kin had been slain, his kin, Elu's kin, and though she had stood with the Teleri, unjustly attacked by fell Feanor, still she herself had slain her father's kin in their defense. Even if he had been able to understand the logic of the killing it was the keeping of the secret that he could not comprehend and would never be able to, even if he had cared to puzzle over it, which he did not. She had lied to their faces in every hour, with every breath. It was a simple truth and an uninteresting one.

"Do you know how to tell when someone is lying?" Thingol had asked him when he was a child, barely tall enough to reach the king's waist. A parentless orphan, he had ridden on the King's horse, before the King's saddle and in that seat the King himself, his uncle, had carefully groomed him to rule.

"No," he had replied.

"You will know someone is lying," the king said, "whenever he opens his mouth."

He went to court and the retainers and soldiers came and went; he gave orders and judged and appointed and deposed and bade and forbade. He went to the forest and the seasons came and went; he tracked and hunted and surveyed and fought and killed. He went to the festivals and the years came and went; he laughed and cheered and made merry and smiled and joked. Time crept by in its petty pace from day to day and all that went unchanged was the hollowness that filled him.

After it had first happened he noticed that people had a habit of falling suddenly silent whenever he entered a room, in that way that they do when they have just been talking of you. He cared little what they said. As with all matters, there were bound to be those who were sympathetic and those who were hostile. Saeros would be stirring up all sorts of malcontent directed at the Noldor, and having an easy time of it in this political climate no doubt. Celeborn found that he did not care. After all, it was no one's business and he wanted sympathy even less than he welcomed hostility.

Luthien had gotten a new puppy. It was so joyful and energetic, full of glee, bounding about and nipping at her skirts. Celeborn did not like when they were like that, teething, biting at everything. Older dogs were more to his liking, but Luthien loved puppies, as she loved all things new and young. She had thrown sticks for it out on the lawns and played with it in the great hall and had let it eat from her plate. One day they had found it dead, for no discernable reason. Its body had simply given out, though it was but young, some health defect no doubt, bad breeding. Or, perhaps, Celeborn thought, it had just grown sick of everything and died, he had heard that Finwe's first wife had done the same. Luthien had cried, and Celeborn had wondered why he couldn't.

Her name had become a curse, a word as filthy as the speech of orcs. None dared speak it. It was almost as though they believed that the mention of her might conjure her. Celeborn cursed his people for their superstition. That elevated things to the level of legend when, in fact, what had happened had been so very horribly real. He wished they would not be so afraid to speak of it, to speak of her. She was no god, no witch, no sorceress fallen from grace, only a girl, nothing more than a girl, a girl who had made extraordinarily bad decisions. They need not be frightened of a girl. He need not be frightened of a girl.

This palace was the finest in middle earth, the thousand caves, the hidden kingdom, a wonder of wonders and yet, in the midst of halls filled with all of the most beautiful things that the earth had to offer, the hollowness, the boredom, the dullness, the monotony, the tedium of years upon end threatened to drive Celeborn mad. On sleepless days he paced the halls, all one thousand of them, he had the time. He had been driven mad and the madness drove him and he laughed to himself about the irony of all of it. If anyone had seen him they would have thought him insane; maybe they were right; maybe he was. His world had been broken apart like an egg, a perfect and delicate suspension in chalky shell dropped suddenly to the floor, all of its grace, all of its perfect beauty smashed on cobblestones while the yellow yolk of his heart ran out, so unceremoniously until there was none of it left and only the fragments of a shell remained. And in his mind he thought a thought, a horrible, dreadful, awful thought: was this how Feanor's sons felt?

The door to Thingol's chambers was thick and it was the middle of the day but Celeborn did not care. He pounded upon the oak with hard fists until at last the valet came, opening the door for him, and waited not to see whether he would be admitted or not, but entered anyway. Melian and Thingol were there, both in their dressing gowns, clearly just having awoken at his knocking, and Celeborn spoke.

"You must send me from this place," he said, his voice as hollow as he felt. "I can endure it no longer. Madness comes upon me."

* * *

><p>After all of these years, Nargothrond was finally finished, or at least that is what Finrod said, though withdrawal of financial support by the Sindar had been a grave blow indeed. Moreover, without military support from Doriath the need for secrecy was considerably heightened and Finrod withdrew his guards from the outer boundaries, recalling them to Nargothrond until a new strategy could be devised.<p>

Having returned from Menegroth, the Lord of Nargothrond had refrained for many years from speaking to his sister of what had transpired between her and Celeborn in the end, for though he loved each of them, he still bore resentment towards his friend for exacerbating, though he had done so unknowingly, the rift between him and his sister and he had deemed most unwise their swift tumble into things that in his opinion ought to be reserved for marriage. These were matters he had long thought he had lain to rest but Thingol's treatment of them in wake of the news of the kinslaying, no matter how justified, had brought his darker thoughts to surface once more.

In those thoughts he had been Celeborn's judge and jury, holding him guilty of lust unchecked but in his more moderate times he recalled how the Sindar were, being long accustomed to death and keen to make the most of the fleeting nature of life, more apt to give in to bodily and emotional urges. He wanted to hold his sister unaccountable, to presume her innocent, a pure maiden led astray by her dark lover, yet on the days when he found that he was truly able to admit things to himself, he knew that, as he and Celeborn had discussed, his friend would never have forced her hand, that Artanis, as ever, made her own decisions, and that Celeborn's utter disregard for propriety had ever been an irresistible lure to his rebellious sister. Thus it was not merely that she had agreed, or even that she had been lured, but most likely that the both of them had traipsed merrily across a line that ought not to have been crossed, mocking it all the way. But, in his heart of hearts he knew that, in truth, his anger stemmed merely from the fact that he hated seeing her hurt, walking about Nargothrond as though she were nothing more than a shadow of her former self, and he wished that Celeborn had rejected her from the first, or that she had rejected him, rather than that they build a doomed love and then suffer its consequences.

He and Angrod had shared sparse and tense conversations on their return to Nargothrond before his two younger brothers had returned to their home, yet Artanis had been entirely silent and Finrod was not one to prod a wound that was still sore or rub salt into a cut that was fresh. Yet, though Finrod had the good sense to hold his tongue, Celegorm did not, indeed, his cousin was renowned for doing the opposite. Thus it was with much trepidation that Finrod received the word that his cousin had accepted his invitation to the feast in celebration of Nargothrond's completion.

The ever conscientious Finrod had had the naugrim craft the flatware especially for this occasion, for Celegorm was liable to disdain silver and he was certain to show outright contempt for bronze or steel and so gold it was. _How very politic of him_, Artanis thought of her brother as she turned her fork, watching the crest, finely engraved on the handle, as it twinkled in the glowing candlelight, _to have the seal of Finwe rather than that of father emblazoned upon these. _And it irritated her more than a little, for she would rather not go to such lengths, or indeed any lengths at all, to curry the favor of their cousins and was content to remain a vassal of Thingol, even if it was as a fiefdom in name only, the military and financial support having been withdrawn after the king had learned of the kinslaying.

"A bit too…" Celegorm gestured at the fixtures of the room with his fork, as carelessly as if it had been cast of pewter rather than solid gold, "…too much of a Moriquendi bent for it to be entirely to my liking, yet, yes, the greater part of it appeals to me in the utmost. An accomplishment, cousin, surely; you ought to be proud."

"I am, I am," said Finrod with a genial laugh. Artanis gave the room a quick glance. There was far too little of a Sindarin bent to this place for it to be of any liking to her at all. Nargothrond was as loathsome to her as it was pleasing to her brother. _At least_, she thought to herself, _it is finished now and I shan't have plaster falling on my head anymore. _Menegroth too had been a cave and yet you never would have imagined it, but Nargothrond made her feel as if she were in a prison and she was not sure whether it was the walls or her thoughts that caged her.

"And how good to see Galad…forgive me…Artanis, here in her brother's house, with her own kinsmen," Celegorm said with a smile but his words were met only by his cousin's dark gaze, for she knew well that he kept things in memory for a long while, particularly things he had deemed an affront, and so she knew with certainty that he had been purposeful in his "slip" of the tongue. Yet there was no satisfactory reply to Celegorm's statement and so she remained silent.

Presently, Celegorm turned his conversation back to her brother saying; "But frankly Finrod, I do not see how you shall marry her off suitably now, though Curufin tells me that Celebrimbor is still somewhat willing…despite the assorted perversions she has taken part in. Nevertheless, perhaps we might be able to sweep all of that under the rug, call it rumors, spread by the Sindar in an effort to discredit us. After all, mayhap the time has arrived at last to forge an alliance between the house of Feanor and the house of Finarfin."

Finrod chewed slowly, loathe to give any answer at all and Artanis turned, looking at her brother with horror, for Celegorm had just offered Finrod his dearest desire the promise of protection, of reconciliation, but…surely he could not be thinking…such a thing was against the customs of the Eldar, marriages of alliance…yet it was not as though they had any compunctions about breaking with the customs of the Eldar in Alqualonde. Not Finrod, her dearest brother…surely he would not. She looked furtively towards Aegnor and Angrod at the other end of the table, but they were engaged in conversation with some of Finrod's counselors and seemed not to have heard.

"I do not know cousin," said Finrod at last, setting his fork down and folding his hands before him. But Artanis saw the doubt in his eyes, the indecision, and could feel the fury building inside her. How dare he! How dare he even think of selling her off to Celebrimbor as if she were worth nothing more than a horse? If only Celeborn were here… he would never have hesitated as Finrod did, but would have rebuked her cousin immediately and harshly.

Fueled by anger she set her fork down hard and it clanged loudly against the crystal plate as she said, "it was not a perversion!" Celegorm raised his eyebrows and turned to Artanis in feigned surprise. "Celeborn and I, our love was not a perversion." She said firmly, her eyes hard.

"I do not know how you could bring yourself to touch him without growing sick at the thought," her cousin remarked, lazily picking at the greens on his plate, "for I will admit that there are some fair Sindarin maids, but whenever I contemplate making love to a Moriquendi I find that the idea repulses me…as it naturally should. They are inferior beings, mentally deficient."

"You know naught of what you speak," Artanis said curtly, clenching her fists in her lap. She knew that Celegorm was intentionally provoking her and yet she could not bear to sit idly by and listen to him.

"Artanis," Finrod hissed, "I beg of you, do not make a scene."

"You ought to be grateful, at least, that Celebrimbor still desires you, for many a man has loved you but how long could they stand your company Artanis? All of them were soon gone, and not all because you turned them away. You are a woman who does not know her place, who longs for power and glory and kingdoms when she ought to be contented with a loom and a harp and elflings playing about her feet." He said it as if it were matter of fact, as though he were explaining something simple to a child and she could feel the walls closing in about her, confining her as ever she had felt when speaking to his father. And Artanis wondered that one who was the son of fearless Nerdanel might say such a thing. "There are few men who can stomach such a woman. Indeed, most would be…put off…by the prospect."

"Celeborn did not mind my strength, indeed, he admired it," Artanis shot back.

"A simpleton – who thought to put the golden crown of Finwe upon his tarnished silver head," Celegorm spat.

"He cares nothing at all for crowns," Artanis replied, her eyes burning with fury.

"And is this not further evidence of his backwardness?" Celegorm asked. "For princes ought to desire kingship, indeed, that is what they are raised for. Yet this Prince of the twilight elves would have no further ambition but to remain a prince for now until eternity."

"Why should he clamor for kingship for himself when he is the prince of the finest king in all of Middle Earth?" She replied. "Indeed, it is because of Thingol's example that Celeborn first loved me, for Melian the queen is as I am, even as Celeborn is like his uncle and their whole kingdom thrives because of their marriage. In me he saw the hope of a similar union, equally blessed, and he wanted the same for himself; there is no wrong in that."

But Celegorm just laughed and shook his head. "I marvel at you cousin," he said, "for this Moriquendi has spurned you entirely and still you pine for him like a dog wanting for a bone."

"Will you say nothing?" Artanis asked, turning to her brother. "You once called Celeborn your friend!" But Finrod said nothing to disturb the burgeoning silence and at last Celegorm turned back to the King of Nargothrond.

"Still, let there not be bitterness between us cousin, for, as I say, better a Sinda than a green elf," he laughed good-naturedly. "We have such a hard time with them for they seem to understand so little of our customs and they go about dressed nearly in rags. Sometimes I wonder if they are simple in the head." He laughed again. "I thought that all of the Moriquendi might be thus, yet I was surprised to see that the Sindar have managed to scrape together some semblance of a culture and civilization, despite their lack of education. The green elves though, they have no sophistication whatsoever."

"Have you had trouble with them?" Finrod asked.

"Nothing much, just territorial disputes mostly, but a good display of military force puts them in their place quickly enough, yelping and scurrying about like kicked puppies." Their cousin laughed as he dabbed at his mouth with the fine cloth napkin, staining it red with juice from the beef. "It is poor Maedhros who is really having a time of it, though it is the Sindar who plague him, those ones who live on the outskirts of Doriath. Their living so near to the girdle of Melian and so far from the capital seems to have made them more like the Laiquendi, living in huts and the like, but they are Sindar in mind, warlords with all of same barbarity and unafraid to pick a fight, not like the green elves who are shy and keep to the shadows."

"It is only because of the goodness of the green elves that we are alive," Artanis said. "You ought not speak of them so. For when we came to this earth naked and starving they clothed us and gave us food to eat."

"For you that might be true," Celegorm said. "But the sons of Feanor were well prepared when we came to these shores and were not so weak as to necessitate that we accept aid from any of the Moriquendi."

"Because you abandoned the house of Fingolfin and the house of Finarfin to cross the –"

"Artanis!" Finrod spoke harshly to her, holding out his hand in a sign that she ought to stop speaking. Already Celegorm was growing wroth, his eyes clouding over with ire at the fact that she had brought up that forbidden matter.

"Tell me Celegorm, what has happened with the Sindar?" Finrod asked and gradually their cousin's ire abated. Yet Artanis wondered that her brother could have become so cold-hearted that he could sit and listen to the prejudiced speech from their cousin about those who had shown them nothing but kindness.

"Maedhros's people have discovered veins of gold at Himring and have been cutting the forests there so that they might dig mines into the mountain. There are several Sindarin cities in that region that claim this activity has caused mudslides and that the timber that has been cut is washing down into their cities, killing their citizens."

"Is that so?" Finrod asked, and for the first time Artanis saw hints of uneasiness in his grey eyes.

"But you know what I say to that?" Celegorm asked with a laugh. "Anyone who would rather live at the bottom of a hill than at the top deserves as much!"

"Have you grown so cold hearted, Finrod, that you would willingly sit and listen to such filth in your own halls?" Artanis queried later, when she had at last gotten her brother alone.

"I listened only so as not to make him angry, so as not to place you in peril. Celegorm is dangerous! It would not do for either of us to end up on the wrong side of him. You certainly need not fear that I will take action based on any of our cousins' suggestions," Finrod snapped. "Perhaps that is a lesson you should learn, sister, to sit in silence more often."

"And thereby lend credence to what he said?" She fumed.

"Silence does not equate agreement," he replied. "It is diplomacy, not to anger those you cannot afford to anger."

"It does," she said. "A willingness to listen is tacit approval. Have you ever thought that that is why you are not married?"

Her words stopped him in his tracks, cutting through his heart as if they were the sharpest of blades. Her visions, her intuition of others feelings, as ever that skill of hers enabled her to see his deepest insecurities so clearly and lay them bare in the garish light with so little tact and sense.

"What was it you said?" His voice was deathly silent as he turned towards her, the torchlight of the corridor flickering across her furious face.

"You are weak as sand, yielding to whatever comes your way," she condemned him. "A coward who takes a stand for nothing and no one. Have you forgotten how Amarie wanted you, nay begged you to stay for her, how she pleaded? Have her words truly grown so cold in your heart that they are but a faint memory? Yet even then her supplications could not sway you and you yielded instead to the pressure of Feanor, of our cousins. You would not stand with her and now you refuse to stand with me! In Doriath they stand for what they believe in, not like here!"

Yet even as she spoke, a dark foreboding came over Felagund and he cried out, saying; "you claim that I will be bound by no oath and to no one, but an oath I too shall swear, and must be free to fulfill it, and go into darkness. Nor shall anything of my realm endure that a son should inherit!" And Artanis trembled at his words as he returned to himself, for they were fell indeed.

"Finrod…" she stammered.

But Felagund's heart was hot with pain and anger and so he lashed out at his sister, saying, "and what of you? Who are you to speak to me of such things? You say that I have brought Amarie to pain and you have said earlier that Celeborn would stand strong where I faltered. Yet what has he profited by taking his stand? For he stood for you and trusted you, thinking that he had built the foundations of his house on solid ground. Yet where has his decisiveness gotten him Artanis? It has brought him only a world full of pain, for you tore down the stones of that happy house he had built with so little care and so much cruelty."

And at his words, Artanis turned and fled, for Finrod had cut her deeply, even as deeply as she had cut him.

She slammed the heavy double doors to her chambers, the sound echoing off of the Spartanly furnished rooms like a gong in an empty hall. _It was with considerable restraint that I acted,_ she thought to herself. She had certainly offended Celegorm, though not to the extent that he deserved to be offended, and she was equally certain that her brother would be in a huff over the things she had said for many days, begging her to remember that their cousins were valuable allies. Yet Artanis cared not, for the anger was still churning within her heart, and she paced forward angrily, throwing open the doors to her bedchamber before she stopped, turning back, removing her golden slipper and hurling it at the entryway for good measure, where it struck the closed doors and fell to the floor. Childish, she knew, but she found that she did not care. Impatiently, she tugged at the restrictive laces of her gown, longing for the days when she had worn the loose and airy Sindarin dresses, longing for everything, everything of Doriath and to be far, so far away from Nargothrond.

"My lady!" Her maids scurried about, removing the heavy clothing from her body, retrieving the slipper she had thrown. "Shall we draw you a bath, bring you refreshment, brush your hair?" They asked her, clearly concerned by her volatile mood, and she felt guilty for worrying them so.

"No, no, thank you. Please, do not trouble yourselves. I only wish to be alone," she said to them politely. "I apologize…for my temper." The maids bowed, leaving quietly, and Artanis donned her dressing gown overtop of her chemise, clutching it tightly about her though the room was not cold. She paced for a moment, her heart grown heavy in the wake of her anger, and looked up at the dull and lifeless ceiling of Nargothrond, so unlike the living wonder of Menegroth.

Her anger had drained from her what energy her cousin had allowed her to retain and it was wearily that she sank into her bed, the softness of the goose down providing little comfort, for it was her heart rather than her body that plagued her. The guilt seeped slowly into her fea. Finrod was right, she had spoken Celeborn's name at the feast, spoken about him, with lips and tongue not worthy of his name. The tears gathered in her eyes, as ever they did when she recalled his memory, even after all of these years, and she raised her hands, digging her fingers into her scalp in frustration. Yet here, in the privacy of her chambers, she did not wipe them away, but allowed them to run freely down her cheeks.

Though decades had passed, it seemed to her not so very long ago that she had passed that first wondrous night in his bed, memorizing the lines of his body, marveling in the depths of his green eyes, her fingers caught in his silver hair, like a shower of stars. And he had held her close, equally as entranced by her, his rough fingers gentle upon her skin, his lips soft against her own, and they had lain in each other's embrace, speaking of love, and dreams, and stories of long ago. It was then that he had asked her for the third time.

_"Why did you leave Aman?" And Galadriel had shifted in his embrace, a bit unnerved, for she had hoped that he would have abandoned this question by now, and yet he had not. _

_ "Will you not tell me," He asked, "not even now that we have spoken to each other of love?" But Galadriel shied at those words and cast her eyes away from his so that he might not discern the truth of her thoughts from her gaze._

_ "It seems to me that you would leverage that love against me now to learn what it is that you wish to know," she said, her heart having been chilled by his words. Yet even as she said it she knew that it was not what he had said, but the secret that she kept which caused that shudder to reverberate throughout her heart. But Celeborn pressed a reconciliatory kiss to her shoulder and said._

_ "Forgive me, for it was not my intent to manipulate you. It is merely…" and he paused, as if growing unsure, something so very foreign to his temperament that it caused Galadriel to sit up and take note, meeting his gaze once more, "merely that it makes me feel as though you trust me not at all."_

_ "Celeborn…" she said softly, raising her hand to caress his face, for the intimacy of his words had surprised her somewhat and, moreover, moved her heart. "Nay," she said, "it is not that I do not trust you, for I do trust you. It is that to speak of that matter is a heavy thing and not something I would undertake lightly, for each time I speak of it I feel the pain as if the wound itself were fresh. If you would have me speak to you of this matter then I would wish to know why."_

_ "Because the coming of your people into these lands spoke as of the footsteps of doom. Foresight I have not, but even I, who have not your prescience, sense that the end draws nigh." He said, speaking his thoughts plainly._

_ "Then I will tell you," she said, though his words had frightened her." You know of some of it in bits and pieces already. I cannot speak for all of my people, but of my own motivation I can tell you. You said once before that Aman must be like paradise and it must be folly to leave such a land to come to one so marred. Yet even the most beautiful of prisons is still a jail, though its bars be of gold. _

_ "A prison?" He asked, rolling onto his back, and crossing his arms behind his head. _

_ "Everything and everyone was so set in their ways," she said laying her head on his chest so that she could look at his face, her fingers gently, absentmindedly moving slowly across the planes and muscles of him, "it was as though my life was already decided for me. My father is the third son of Finwe and I am the fourth child of my father. I could have nothing for my own; it was all already someone else's. Always was I bending to the will of others and there was nothing for me to shape in the way that I wished."_

_ Celeborn laughed. "And is it so different here?"_

_ "Melian has told me of many lands that are yet uninhabited," she said._

_ "But I am the Prince of Doriath," he said, "and so in Doriath I must remain." And the implications of what he had said weighed upon her as a heavy yoke. _

_ "But surely," he said, "there is more to the tale than this, is there not?" He drew her atop him and she crossed her arms over his chest, perching her head upon their intersection. _

_ "Yes," she said, "but I cannot speak to you of it freely, for I am sworn to say nothing of it to Thingol and, were I to speak to you of it ere the tale reached his ears, your loyalty to your realm could be drawn into question. Believe me when I say that I remain silent for your own good."_

_ Celeborn sighed, a troubled look creasing his brow, for though he knew it was true that whatever secret she kept should be told to Thingol first, he wondered at her logic. "And is it not treasonous enough for me to know you keep a secret from my King that he ought to hear but continue to allow you to keep it?"_

_ "I beg you, Celeborn," she said, worry in her eyes, remembering the curse of Mandos, "in time you will know, even as Thingol shall, but until then know that in all matters of our courtship things must be initiated by your hand and not mine."_

_ "Why is that?" he asked her, brow furrowed. _

_ "Please," she said, stroking his hair back from his face, "only trust me that it must be so." _

_And he seemed to deliberate in his mind for a while but finally he smiled and said, "very well then. But you shall never be able to convince me that it isn't because you are lazy and wish for me to do all the work." She laughed, but that laughter was soon stifled by his kiss and, soon enough they found that there were other things to keep them busier than such a somber conversation._

Artanis rubbed at her eyes, the tears having long since dried upon her cheeks, leaving behind only salty reminders that they had once flowed there, and let out a long and shuddering sigh. It had been nearly thirty years since her exile from Menegroth and still her memories of him were so painfully clear that they might have happened yesterday. There were still nights where she dreamed of him, where the heat of him still seemed to be imprinted upon her body, where she nearly believed that he would be there beside her when she awoke. There was no doubt in her mind as to the feelings that she bore him, no doubt whatsoever; she loved him, madly. And he no longer loved her.

At times the pain seemed nearly unbearable: the pain of being entirely isolated and alone, of having lost those she loved. And then there was the guilt, the oppressive guilt of what she had done, of the lies she had told, the friends she had deceived. It weighed upon her as though she wore a millstone about her neck.

She should have known that it was an impossibility, that it had been an impossibility from the start. His loyalty would ever be to Doriath and to Thingol just as her loyalty, in some part, must always belong to her own people. And it did not matter if that was the smaller of the parts, for there was ever the potential that it could be the germ of division between them. He was a prince of Doriath and a prince of Doriath could not take to wife one who might divide his loyalties. But knowing that their love had always been destined for failure did not make that loss any easier.

* * *

><p>"Have you forgotten, Finrod, that it was but a few years ago that you and Celegorm discussed a marriage between Celebrimbor and I? I certainly have not forgotten; I was there if you care to recall!" Artanis fumed, stalking back and forth before her brother's throne. "Now you tell me that he is already here when you doubtlessly knew he was coming some weeks prior! Can you not understand at all why I might feel betrayed by you?" She crossed her arms, glaring at her brother.<p>

"And do you truly believe that I would encourage you to do something that I thought might not be conducive to your happiness?" Finrod asked her, deeply wounded.

"For the sake of your precious alliance with our cousins? Yes!" She spat, livid as a viper. "Cats do not change their stripes and neither will they!"

"Artanis! Sister!" Finrod descended from his throne, placing his hands on her shoulders, but Artanis shrugged them off angrily. "Artanis! I thought that this rift between us had long since been healed! Believe me when I say that I am not motivated in this by any sort of political factor. Do not let the words of Celegorm poison your heart!" Finrod cried.

"Oh is that so?" She said skeptically, beginning to stalk back and forth again.

"You do not know," Finrod said, his voice full of worry, "how much it pains me to see you waste away in grief after Celeborn! Do you think that I have not heard your tears as I passed by your room in the night, or noticed your deep sorrow, or how you take no delight in things that you used to love. You are a shadow of yourself."

"It is not only for him that I mourn," she replied, "but also for the person that I used to be, for the city that I loved, for the future that was promised but now is lost forever. You have your dream, Finrod," she gestured madly about at the palace, "you have your Nargothrond. What of my dreams, what of my ambitions?"

"My dream? I would rather have your happiness than this entire palace," Finrod said. "But your happiness ought not depend on him, or upon Doriath, or Menegroth, or any of it! You can find joy in this world still Artanis! Celebrimbor has much to recommend him: he is one of the chief smiths of Gondolin, a man of keen mind, very handsome in appearance, skilled in all manner of arts, a courageous warrior, and possessed of a kind heart."

"He is not so kind as you think," she said, "he is extraordinarily possessive, most especially of me."

"Why can you not at least speak to him? Why can you not accept that he may have grown in character? You have not seen him for nearly a century now."

"And I have been all the happier for it," Artanis retorted.

"You are not happy now," Finrod said and Artanis stopped her pacing. "Perhaps you will find that you could be happy with him. You could be a lady of Gondolin, Artanis, everything that you want he can offer to you, and he will. At least speak to him, I beg of you, he has brought you an extraordinary gift and…it would make me happy if I were to see you joyful again."

"What I want I will win by my own hand. I very much doubt that I shall find any happiness in Celebrimbor," Artanis replied, her anger abating, "but for your sake, Finrod, I will at least speak to him." And, having so said, she swept from the room, leaving an exhausted Finrod to collapse upon his throne. His sister was, as ever, very difficult and, of late, his thoughts were growing darker.

Artanis had intended to greet Celebrimbor rather angrily but, as she strode to the smithies, she found that her heart was turned by that strange fascination that sometimes comes over one when meeting someone you have not seen in a very long time and so, though she did not greet him with any particular joy, neither did she greet him with anger.

"Hello Celebrimbor," she said, and she wondered if something of the Sindar had rubbed off on her for he jumped upon hearing her words behind him, as though he had not heard her approach.

"Artanis!" He turned as though he meant to embrace her but drew back, sensing her unease. "Forgive me," he said with a broad smile, "it is just that I am so very pleased to see you. It has been a long while since last we met." He was a handsome elf, tall, with mahogany dark hair that hung long and straight behind him, a strip of fabric was about his forehead and tied behind his head, keeping his hair out of his eyes. His clothes were stylish, as ever, and meticulously clean, despite the fact that he worked in a smithy. He wore a white linen shirt that was open at the collar over which he wore a red velvet vest embroidered with gold stitching and fastened with golden clasps that were emblazoned with the seal of Finwe. His breeches were of a rich brown and his boots were fawn colored, with gold toes. He wore a thick oilskin apron that was tied about his waist and neck, the sign of a smith.

"And I am surprised to see you," she replied. One never needed to make much effort when in conversation with Celebrimbor, for he was of such a gregarious character that he could steer a conversation in any which direction with seemingly little effort. His remarkable tact and charm, she thought, stood in stark contrast to Celeborn's rough speech and straightforward, brash mannerisms. Celebrimbor, she was sure, would never dare to ask her any of the bold and uncomfortable questions that Celeborn frequently had.

"I thought you might be," he said, "and I apologize for that. I know that you must not be very pleased that I am here and I will keep my distance, if that is what you wish." Artanis could not help but be a bit shocked by such open acknowledgement of this fact from him, for the matter of his pursuit of her and her continued rejection of him had been a sore issue for over a century. Perhaps he had grown in character after all. "But I have heard from Finrod that you have been very unhappy of late and, well, it did pain me to hear that." Artanis silently cursed her brother for divulging this information. "Then I thought," he said, with great excitement, "that perhaps I could craft something for you, something that would heal your heart and bring you joy again, something spectacular."

He stepped away from his workbench and took to hand a small and elegantly carved cedar box. "It is my finest work," he told her, smiling proudly, coming to stand before her and holding it out. She stepped forward only because she wished to be polite and not to injure him with harsh rejection, but she could see nothing spectacular about this box. Yes, the carvings were very fine, and the smell of the cedar was lovely, but it was not spectacular.

"Are the engravings of the Gardens of Lorien?" She asked him with feigned curiosity.

"They are indeed," he said, grinning broadly, "for well do I recall how you used to dance there."

_Only because you followed me and watched me when I was unaware,_ she thought. But it was a very generous gesture and she ought to show more gratitude, she reasoned with herself and so she said, "thank you, Celebrimbor, that is very kind of you."

"No!" He laughed, "you must open it."

"Oh," she said, feeling foolish, and, somewhat awkwardly she reached out to flip open the small silver clasp and lift the lid. What lay inside left her breathless: There, atop a cushion of silk the color of the midnight sky lay the most beautiful stone that she had ever seen aside from the Silmarils themselves. It was the size of a small chicken's egg and of the most marvelous green, as though all of the colors of the leaves of summer were encapsulated within its crystal, the deep green of maple leaves and the cheery bright green of the beech, the richness of the elm and the silvery green of the willow. And within this stone they would be ever verdant, ever living, not subject to the passing of time or the harsh seasons as the leaves on the trees. And, perhaps most magnificent of all, it shone with the sheen of the sun passing through a verdant canopy of leaves, casting a soft, dappled golden glow about it. It was set in a broach of flawless silver, formed in the shape of an eagle so lifelike that she would not have been surprised to see it take flight from the cushion upon which it sat. And this was threaded on a chain of silver.

"I would have made you a Silmaril if I were able," he said, "so that you could always look upon the light of the trees but, alas, this will have to suffice I fear. It is not so simple as it looks," he said, "for as I have told you, I wished to see you smile again and so this stone is imbued with special properties so that it will show things that are withered or burnt or destroyed as though healed and whole again, and whosoever wears this stone will bring healing from hurt for it is imbued with the light of living things."

"Celebrimbor," she gasped, very much overwhelmed by his generosity, "I do not know what to say! It is…it is phenomenal. There is nothing, save the Silmarils, that surpasses its beauty." It was true, and she was almost afraid to touch something this magnificent, yet she could hardly restrain herself, reaching out with a trembling hand.

"Artanis," he said, taking her hand, "I am only an elf and I have my faults, but my heart is true. Can we not begin anew? Will you not do me the honor of wearing this, the finest of my creations?"

"I will wear it," she said, "if it pleases you, but I cannot make you any promises at this time." For even as she looked upon the magnificent jewel a sharp pang of sadness had shot through her as she remembered the gift, the only gift that Celeborn had given her, the name Galadriel, a gift that she had shunned and despised until that moment when it was all that remained of their ruined love. And then she had whispered it over and over in the darkest hours of the night as though it were a litany and, by saying it a thousand upon a thousand times, she might possibly become that woman that he had seen fit to grace with such a name.

But Celebrimbor seemed not to notice her sudden sadness through the immensity of his joy and he took the stone from its chest and clasped the silver chain about her neck, the brooch itself falling to settle in the cleft between the swell of her breasts and she looked down, watching it hanging there.

"This is the Elessar," Celebrimbor whispered, his hand gently tilting her chin up so that she looked at him rather than the jewel, "may it bring you much joy." He smiled and then released her, returning to his work, and they only passed a few more moments in conversation before she took her leave of him, for he was eager to start his crafting, but Artanis spent many an hour wandering about the palace and she knew Celebrimbor's words to be true, for the magic of the jewel seemed to work upon her even as a drug or a heady perfume so that everything that had before reminded of her pain now brought her only the happiest thoughts and broken things now appeared new, not least of all her heart.


	15. Chapter 15: Crucible of Madness

**Crucible of Madness**

Doriath: 15th Chapter

* * *

><p>"But his soul was mad.<p>

Being alone in the wilderness, it had looked within itself and,

by heavens I tell you, it had gone mad."

– _Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> **Please be aware that this chapter contains violence and rough language. **On a different note, this is the longest chapter of this story and quite possibly my favorite; so many important things are happening here.

Also, I'm so glad this psycho exam week is over! Now I can write more plus I am only one semester away from my Master's degree! Thank you to everyone who took the time to review! I really appreciate it. And, thank you to everyone who is reading this story! If you have time, I really appreciate any comments, questions, or feedback. Happy reading!

* * *

><p>"Not thinking of how you wish to run away are you?" The voice came from behind her and Artanis turned to see, to her great surprise, that it was Celebrimbor who stood behind her wearing not his customary oilskin apron nor any of the soot that typically stained his hands, but a brocade tunic of royal blue and black linen leggings.<p>

"I don't believe I have ever seen you so casual," she remarked with a grin and a glance at his bare feet.

"Yes well," he laughed, hands clasped behind his back, "that never seemed to sit well with you so I am trying something new."

"Are you?" She laughed as he seated himself beside her on the knoll overlooking the forest below. It was autumn now and the trees were colored in an array of golds, oranges, and reds as if they were aflame. They were silent for a little while, watching the slowly setting sun with smiles on their faces, basking in its glow. And it was nice, she mused, to not feel so terribly alone for once.

"Look," Celebrimbor said, turning to her, "I am sorry about all of this, about everything that happened to you. I understand, Artanis, believe me. I too thought to come here only because I wished to see this earth, because I wanted to work with metals that no one had ever seen before, discover jewels heretofore unknown, new elements…and then it all seemed like some wretched, horrible, ruined dream when I saw the blood spilled upon the docks. I did not want this any more than you did, and I know the pain that you feel: that the deeds of another have marred your future. You know I did not raise my sword that day." A century earlier she might have stopped him from speaking any further but she listened now, for his words seemed a healing balm to her troubled soul.

"And I know that my father, and Celegorm, and Caranthir have done terrible things. It is as if their minds are twisted and warped – sick, evil. That day in Alqualonde…I lost my family that day, though it was not to death. But know this: that my kinship with them does not equate with compliance. I despise them. I have publicly spoken against them and I will continue to do so, to condemn the things they have done." It was true; he had, and what was more, he meant it with all his heart. It was always something she had respected about Celebrimbor. How strange, she thought, that he and Celeborn, who were truly so very different, were alike in that one very important regard. It nearly brought a smile to her lips, but Celebrimbor's solemnity caused her to refrain.

"But I am sorry, for all of it. If there was any way, anything further that I ought to have done, or could have done, but did not do, if any of this evil is of my doing in your eyes then I beg your forgiveness with all my heart. For it pains me beyond measure to know that your dreams, such as they were, have been dashed and you hopes smothered because of some evil that was the doing of my kinsmen. There is none who deserves to have the evil my uncles worked thrust upon them, but even less do you deserve it, who have always showed kindness, leniency, and understanding to all, even to me, who is so very undeserving. I would wish for you only happiness, even if I play no part in it." And by the tears gathering in his eyes and the heartfelt tone in his voice she knew he was sincere.

"Celebrimbor," she said, her heart moved, taking his hand and clasping it tightly, "I do not blame you and well do I know that you have condemned the actions of your father. More than that, I pity you in my heart, for Curufin has indeed gone mad and though he may still live in body, I mourn you the loss of your father. Therefore, do not think that I am angered that you have come here to Nargothrond or that I hold some grudge against you, for recently I find that the pain I have suffered has softened my heart and given me new understanding. What is more, I am glad that you have come here, for it seems to me that there is not one amongst the Noldor, or Sindar, or even amongst my own brothers, who so fully understands what has happened and its affect on me."

They were silent then and Celebrimbor interlaced his fingers with hers, the two of them watching as the setting sun glowed red as a hot coal, dying the surrounding forest and fields of golden grain in its light.

"What were you thinking when I came upon you?" He asked her softly.

"Only how beautiful it is, this earth," she replied with a sigh, wrapping her arms around her legs as she drew them up to her chest.

"It is, isn't it," he remarked with a smile, surveying the horizon and the burning of the setting sun against the rim of the world and then he turned towards her. "It looks well on you, the Elessar."

"I rather think so myself," she said, glancing down and laughing.

"Does it make you happy after all?" He asked her and she looked at him for a moment, her blue eyes meeting his dark ones, and nodded.

"It does," she replied softly. "Recently I begin to think that all is not lost, that I can still do something worthwhile in this world." They looked out towards the horizon again. "When you build your kingdom," Artanis said, "what will it be like?"

"Hmph," Celebrimbor grunted as he lay back in the tall grass with his arms crossed behind his head. "I will go east of the mountains," he told her and she laughed.

"Of course you will."

"There is a land there called Hollin and it is filled with holly plants of all varieties, with red berries, and black, and even some of gold, or so it has said. There are clear streams and a wealth of forests and many gentle knolls of verdant grass. And I will build a magnificent palace there."

"How magnificent?" She asked, as though she doubted him, but she was laughing, for this reminded her of how they had used to talk as children and things that once seemed no more possible than fairy tales now held the promise of actuality.

"It will be like a palace of Aman," he laughed, "here in Middle Earth, only grander." And he began to trace figures in the sky. She smiled, remembering how they did, after all, share the same dream. "With streets paved in diamond dust that glimmer in the light of both the moon and the sun and doors of crystal engraved with the most beautiful scenes," he continued. "The walls will be inlaid with gold and amber. In the courtyards there will be fountains inlaid with mother of pearl and the palace itself shall be an oasis for all, elves and dwarves. It will be," and he sat up, "the most magnificent palace you have ever seen. But," he reached out, tilting her chin so that she was looking at him, "it will all look as insignificant as dust next to the splendor that is you." _Ah, _she recalled, _he has never been any less than bold._

Artanis felt her breath catch in her throat and, the next thing she knew, Celebrimbor had brought his lips to hers, kissing her softly at first, then deeply, and, to her great surprise, she let him. It was not that same feeling as when Celeborn had kissed her, that yearning hunger gnawing at the pit of her stomach, that power within her begging to be unleashed. Instead, it was a calm and gentle feeling, as though this moment itself were enough, as though she were content as she was now, and would forever be.

And her heart was greatly troubled thereafter, when she lay abed that night, trying to find some measure of rest. But her mind was racing. She had never thought that there was a possibility of happiness with Celebrimbor but now she could see that there was; there was the possibility of quiet happiness, of calm, of peace and well-being. She held the Elessar up, watching as it cast its summery light about the darkness of her chambers, green, like leaves, like Celeborn's eyes, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

* * *

><p>The gates of the fortress of Himlad creaked open but, even before they had entered, a strange foreboding about the place washed over Celeborn. Perhaps it was just that this particular region had always been somewhat desolate, or perhaps it was the imposing and somewhat severe architecture of the castle, for it did not blend into nature as Menegroth did, rather, it seemed to stand in spite of it, as though it had conquered the earth and beaten it into submission, but whatever the reason, it was with no small amount of trepidation that Celeborn first set foot in the looming entrance hall.<p>

He looked down at the polished marble floor to see his own face eerily staring back at him, but diminished, like a ghost, or a reflection upon a pond. It was a very black place that even his Sindarin eyesight struggled to penetrate and some sparse light shone in the form of plain oil soaked torches that lined the long row of iron columns, their flames flickering weakly. It was less a palace for comfort than a fortress for war. But then again, the Feanorians were at war he supposed, so perhaps it was not so unusual that their palaces would be so different from Sindarin ones.

"State your business," the guard demanded but they said nothing and showed no signs of acknowledgement for he had spoken not in Sindarin, but in Quenya and the guard, assuming that they did not understand, then repeated himself in Sindarin.

"Prince Celeborn of Doriath and the Crown Princess Luthien of the same. We have come to speak with Lord Curufin if he would be gracious enough to grant us an audience, for our King has business with him." Celeborn replied, a bit put off by the terseness of the guards, though he did his best to not allow it to show.

"Wait here," the guard said before stalking off and while he was gone a different set of guards approached them, searching their clothes and divesting them of any weapons that they were carrying. A very strange policy among elves, Celeborn thought, that was unless Curufin expected elf to attack elf. It would have been exceedingly peculiar indeed, had they not known of the kinslaying, but, in light of that information, they now understood his paranoia. Celeborn turned to glance at Luthien and saw confusion upon her face. It seemed he was not the only one who was uncomfortable. This was no way to greet royalty.

"By the Valar you Sindar travel heavily armed!" The guard laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, having sensed their discomfort. His Sindarin was poor, probably as he never spoke it, but Celeborn was grateful for his effort at levity, even as he began to wonder whether or not Thingol's decree was so wise. For if the Noldor could hardly speak Sindarin then it was almost certain that they would ignore the King's decree and, rather than enforcing Thingol's sovereignty, it would almost certainly sow seeds of discord. People would not learn an entirely new language for a king they did not know and for whom they bore no love.

"Yes well, old habits die hard I suppose." Celeborn replied with an awkward, tight smile. It was then that the first guard returned.

"The Lord Curufin will grant you an audience," he said with a bow, "though he begs that you if you will visit in the future, you have the courtesy to send messengers ahead of you. Our Lord is occupied at the moment but if you do not mind waiting a short while then he will be happy to see you shortly."

"That would be agreeable," Luthien replied. "But only the Prince and I need speak with him. Is there some place where our guards might wait to pass the time?"

"Of course my Lady, they are welcome to sit with our own guards if it pleases them and the horses shall be stabled for your convenience."

"My thanks," the princess replied and the guard beckoned them to follow him. They soon passed from the entryway into some sort of main chamber that was larger still but it was the same sort of architecture, dark and foreboding, iron and obsidian. Though the ceilings were high there was some sort of claustrophobic feel about the place that set them ill at ease, almost as if they were being squeezed as in a fist. At last they came to some sort of a small antechamber and this too had polished black marble floors but there were no more iron pillars here. Instead, the walls were lined with wooden chairs that were built into the wall itself. Very tall and narrow they were, with canopy-like overhangs and thin black cushions. It was all very dismal looking, so very severe.

"If you would be so kind as to wait here Lord Curufin will be with you shortly," the guard said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Luthien said, perplexed, "will you leave us no light?" For, indeed, the only light in the entire room was the torch that the guard carried.

"I am sorry," he said, looking very much as though he truly meant it, but the greater part of his heart seemed given over to fear and, quickly, he bowed his way out the door. "I have been instructed not to light any lamps in this room." And then he was gone, leaving them in pitch darkness.

"No light?" Luthien exclaimed. "And what if they were to simply leave us here? I could never find my way back through all of those horrid tunnels in this darkness! Is this their idea of some sort of perverted joke? What did Artanis say about this one, Curufin? I cannot recall." Celeborn could hear her searching about for the chairs. He searched as well, slowly moving towards the wall, and at last they found them, though they were perhaps no better off for it, seeing how terribly uncomfortable they were.

"I do not like this. I do not like this at all Celeborn. These guards are so very frightened, though whether it is of us or of something else I do not know. There is something very wrong here," she said. "I feel as though my entire body were inundated with some great evil." Yet Luthien's voice did not quake with fear, for she knew fear not at all, nor ever had, and instead her voice was lit with anger.

Celeborn, however, felt near sick with fear and he said; "there is indeed. I find that this place sickens me." In his heart he was worried for his guards, for he knew not now what would happened to them while he and Luthien were gone. Many of them had served under him for a very long time and he would be loathe to betray his brothers in arms to harm. "For our safety and theirs we should not have entered without the guards," he said, growing frustrated with himself. "It was very foolish."

"You cannot think…" Luthien began, leaving her sentence unfinished. "But I am the High-princess of Beleriand and you the prince, surely not…"

But they were not sure what to think, and that was entirely the problem, Celeborn thought, his heart pounding in his chest. They knew these elves had slain their kin, but they were yet unaccustomed to the mindset of such elves. "I feel very stupid now for having left them," he said, his heart pounding in his chest. A queer sort of anxiety began to overtake his heart and he began to both bless and curse himself for having begged Thingol to send him from Menegroth, for he was certainly no longer devoid of all emotion, indeed, he was full of it at this moment, but the emotions racing through him now were of the very worst sort.

Minutes turned to hours and the hours seemed interminable. Celeborn reached out to take his cousin's hand in the darkness, more for his comfort than hers. "I curse myself now for allowing them to take my weapons," he said.

"Do not be afraid," Luthien replied in a firm voice, "for there is Maian blood running through my veins and you, you do not need a weapon to tear an orc limb from limb. Curufin son of Feanor will rue the day that he showed such disrespect to the Sindar!" And both of them would have left immediately if they had not been concerned that their disobedience might endanger the lives of their guards. "Celeborn," she turned to her cousin in the dark, "you must not strike him unless our very lives are in peril, for it would be an act of open war for a Sindarin prince to strike a Noldorin one."

"I know," Celeborn said grimly and he did not rebuke Luthien for having thought he would act rashly; indeed, the idea had already crossed his mind that he should very much like to strike Curufin.

They could not be sure of the time that passed while they were in that room but it seemed very long indeed. Sometimes they sat and, when they grew tired of sitting in the rock hard chairs, they stood and paced about in the darkness. Celeborn could feel the anger boiling within him for he was certain that this was indeed a deliberate act of rudeness and he only wondered what further unpleasant things lay in store for them.

"A short time he said!" Luthien scoffed, "this has been anything but!" She was right, but Celeborn allowed her to go on talking by herself for he did not trust himself to speak any further now, lest he explode with rage.

"Let us go! We will leave on our own!" He said finally, springing to his feet, unable to bear the tension any longer. "This was a fool's errand!" But, at that moment the door finally creaked open again and a guard entered.

"The Lord Curufin will see you now," he said stiffly before leading them into what must be Curufin's throne room. Celeborn immediately felt a searing, white-hot pain lance through his eyes and raised a hand to cover them, startled for a moment before he realize that the temporary blindness was an effect of the transition from a pitch black room to one blazing with light. It was much the same way he had felt on that first day that the sun had risen and, in his heart, he wondered if Finrod, his former friend, the only one in which he had confided his fear of the rising sun, had betrayed him to the son of Feanor. Slowly, he lowered his arm and opened his eyes to squint at the room around him, blinking rapidly as his eyes struggled to focus. It seemed as though everything were moving slowly, as if underwater.

"Mae Govannen Celeborn Galadhonian, Luthien Tinuviel!" Curufin said. He was a tall elf with a remarkably handsome angular face in which were set glittering brown eyes. His hair was chestnut brown, long and braided, the braids ornamented with golden clasps, and his robes were of red velvet, exquisitely embroidered with the emblem of his father's house. Celeborn felt a flare of anger surge through him for, though Curufin had greeted him in Sindarin, the accent had been terribly wrong and forced. This was obviously not because Curufin could not say it correctly, but because he was mocking them, making a parody of their mother-tongue and, in turn, of them.

"Come! Come out into the light! Don't worry, you won't melt!" The Noldo laughed, throwing himself onto his throne. "You can stand there," he gestured to the area before the throne and they moved there obediently, still too disoriented by the light to protest. They were vaguely aware of courtiers standing about the walls of the room, almost as though they wished they could disappear into the stone.

"You know," Curufin turned to the guard who stood on his right, "there are these little blind fishes that live in caves. Hideous creatures." He chuckled and then his head snapped back to his guests. Celeborn felt the pit of his stomach sink even lower, if that were possible, for though he had only observed the Feanorian's behavior for a few brief moments, already he was certain that he was in the den of a madman.

"What is it? Whatever is the matter?" Asked Curufin with mock concern as he sat up straight and turned towards them. "I was only trying to welcome you in a way fit to your culture. Do you not love the darkness, you Moriquendi? Twilight elves." He laughed. "Are you not pleased that I have seen to your needs?" And, as much as Celeborn wanted to spit at him and rebuke him for calling them Moriquendi, Curufin was speaking now in Quenya and he could not acknowledge it.

"What is the matter with them?" Curufin asked his guard after a pregnant pause. "Are they deaf or merely stupid? Can they not speak a proper language? This girl in particular is the daughter of a Maia is she not? How can she be so uneducated?"

The guard merely shook his head and said, "I do not believe they speak Quenya my Lord. For they seemed only to understand Sindarin earlier."

"What is the matter with you?" Curufin asked now in Sindarin and Celeborn raised his head.

"Us? There is nothing the matter with us! It is you who have left us sitting in a dark chamber for half the day! Have you no courtesy?" He said, eyes flashing, and almost immediately regretted having spoken his mind, for it was almost certainly what Curufin had wanted to provoke him to do. He had wanted to say something more diplomatic but Curufin had tried his anger most sorely.

"Ah! The Moriquendi temper!" Curufin clapped his hands gleefully. "I was told about you Celeborn. I was told of your sharp tongue. Ha! And they call you the wise. I did not know it was in jest."

"You have been most ungracious," Luthien said with a hint of politeness, though her tone was unusually somber. "And we have come here as emissaries of Thingol to discuss important business." She struggled to maintain her decorum when, in reality, all that she wanted to do was lash out as Celeborn had done, but Luthien was of a cooler mind and that was a blessing now.

"My oh my! How flattering that I should be graced with royal guests of the house of Thingol!" Curufin sneered. "Indeed, it is for the first time. Your king seems content with his Finarfinian lapdogs but not ONCE had he given a son of Feanor, eldest son of Finwe, the courtesy, no the decency, the respect of a royal visit!" The words hung uncomfortably in the air and Celeborn recalled how Artanis had once told him of the terrible jealously of the Feanorians when Angrod and Aegnor had first returned from Menegroth, bearing Thingol's messages, how they had spoken harsh words to her brothers, envious that the children of Finwe's third son had been granted an audience while they, children of Feanor, had been denied that courtesy.

"Well you are not the only ones with important business. I have important business as well! There are many questions that I am wanting an answer to. Let us all discuss our important business together then!" He settled back on his throne, a smile twisting itself across his face, and said; "now, I have heard that all Moriquendi males are hung like horses. Is this true?" Luthien was at a loss for words, staring blankly at Curufin, hardly daring to believe that he had asked her such a thing, to voice such impropriety out loud, and in front of others no less. It was hardly something one would consider saying in private, much less in a royal court.

"I…I…would not know." She replied at last, unable to think of anything else to say. The thought that he would dare say something of that nature…it was unthinkable. She glanced at Celeborn to see the shock upon his face and suddenly had a very foul premonition of where this conversation was directed. Curufin had not welcomed them as guests at all, instead, it seemed that they were there purely for his perverse entertainment.

"A lovely thing like you doesn't know?" Curufin asked, stepping forward as if to touch her face before drawing back suddenly. Luthien stared at him defiantly. "I find that hard to believe. I heard that your kind do not hold with the laws of Illuvatar nor with the customs of the eldar and, instead, breed at random, like dogs, without bonds of marriage. I have even heard that your sort inbreed. Little backwards forest elves. Is that true? Have you fucked your cousin Celeborn here?"

"Lord Curufin!" Luthien began, anger getting the best of her now at last, overcoming her shock. "I would remind you to whom you are speaking!"

"Or perhaps it is the Maian part of you that causes you to wait, hold out for more noble blood. If only Celegorm were here…he would like to show a pretty girl like you a thing or two." He grinned sadistically. The Noldo was predictable only in his malice but his temperament itself was mercurial. At one second he seemed jovial and confident, at the next unreasonably angry.

"But then, even the best families have their bad apples. Tell me," he said, turning swiftly to Celeborn, "You were the one who courted my cousin Artanis, or so I have heard. How was she when you fucked her? I have always wondered. I bet she likes just about anything you could dream of, the filthiest things you could dream of. She is SUCH a…filthy…whore." And, to his great surprise, Celeborn felt a wellspring of anger rising in him at Curufin's words. Thingol might condemn Artanis, and Oropher, and even himself, but their intentions were not ill; he would be damned to Mandos and back before he would allow someone so unworthy, so foul, so cruel-hearted speak about her in such a fashion. And what was more, Artanis could never have been called a paragon of virtue, certainly, for she had made many poor choices, yet he found himself enraged that of all of the things that Curufin could have accused her of, he had managed to reduce her to her mere sexuality. Luthien's hand reached out to touch Celeborn's arm, willing him to keep control of himself. She could feel him trembling.

"You have no right to speak against her, you who have slain your own kin. She may have slain kin as well, but she has not allowed the evil of her actions to warp her heart!" Celeborn hissed, against his better judgment.

"Ah, so you do still have feelings for her…" Curufin sounded gleeful. "Do you love her, Celeborn? Do you love a slayer of kin, a liar?" He laughed. "You have been trying so very hard, haven't you, to pretend that it was nothing, that she is nothing…and you almost convinced yourself that it was so, didn't you? Yes…it hurts doesn't it, Celeborn? Well…I know that pain too. I am, after all, a son of Feanor and I could not stop loving my father, even after what he did to me, what he made me swear to. I know that anger…I know your anger. You cannot hid it, not from me."

Celeborn felt Luthien's nails digging into his arm as though he were one of her disobedient hounds that she was seeking to discipline, but his anger was burning hot within and it completely overruled his better judgment. "Shut your mouth, Noldo," he spat, "how dare you speak to my cousin in such a fashion? How dare you speak about your own kinswoman in such a way?" But Curufin paid him no mind.

"You do know that she has parted her legs for half of Valinor do you not? Or…did you think you were her first? You, a Moriquendi!" He laughed. "How far she must have fallen, to have landed on your cock. I guess you are the sort of man who is content with the used garbage that is tossed his way. At least you could have been of some use. A bruised eye or two would have fixed that smart mouth of hers."

Celeborn wanted nothing more than to plunge a sword through Curufin at that very moment and if he had one he very well might have tried. At the least, he wanted to berate him for his words, yet the Feanorian had spoken to him in Quenya just now, doubtlessly to try to provoke a response, to prove that he did understand Quenya after all, and it was only his love for Thingol, who had trusted him and entrusted him with this mission, that staid his tongue in that moment.

"Do you not know that, even now, my son is in Nargothrond courting her?" Curufin spat. "She is not worthy of him, filth like her, as if her being half Teleri wasn't bad enough she was defiled by you, tainted." He glanced at them with suspicion.

"I know that both of you understand me and I do not appreciate whatever game it is that you are playing at," Curufin said then in Sindarin.

"Lord Curufin, I regret to inform you that we have had some very disturbing news from the Lady Artanis that pertains to you." Celeborn said, struggling to keep his voice calm even as his hands were clenched in fists behind his back. It took all of the strength he could muster not to choke the life out of the Noldo right there.

"Do you think I do not already know? Do you think I have not had word from Nargothrond?" Curufin shouted, his anger sudden, and fear began to creep into the back of Celeborn's mind. Curufin had killed before, massacred the Teleri, what was there now to prevent him from sending Luthien and himself on an unplanned journey to Mandos's halls? He was clearly not sane.

"We have heard of the massacre that you and your brothers as well as Fingolfin's men perpetrated upon the Teleri at Alqualonde." Celeborn continued and Curufin began to laugh maniacally as the Sinda spoke.

"Massacre!" Curufin brought this hand slamming down upon the arm of his throne as if he had just heard the most amusing joke. "It was like slaughtering babes in their beds! They were so much weaker than the Noldor! Third born…_nelyar_!They never guessed what we had planned, never understood what was happening, even as they died upon our blades! Fools lust for death and so it was death I gave them!" He laughed raucously. "Am I not a benevolent god? Massacre you say! That was a work of art! You should have seen it…you should have seen what I did."

He approached until his face was a mere hair's breadth from Celeborn's, his voice sinking to a whisper. "Everything was silver and red, everywhere silver hair and red blood. You would not have believed how beautiful it was…" The blade of a knife flashed and a gasp rose up from those assembled there. Curufin was holding a long lock of silver hair in his hand, freshly shorn from Celeborn's head. It was a sign of massive disrespect, to cut hair from another elf's head, a punishment reserved for the worst of prisoners.

Curufin stepped away laughing, flipping the knife up into the air and catching it. "Forgive me…I simply couldn't resist." He said with a wide grin, holding up the lock of hair. "It brings back such pleasant memories." With the knife he cut his own thumb, applying pressure until the blood ran down the lock of hair like beads, staining it red. It seemed to bring him an almost orgasmic pleasure. For a moment Celeborn considered fleeing, but he knew they would not make it far. Curufin returned to his throne, slouching lazily in it, and toyed with the lock of hair.

"I think I'll keep this," he said, "to remind me of you, and to remind you of what I shall do with you if I ever meet you again. Perhaps it will provide me some amusement."

"I am so BORED!" He shouted suddenly. "All of you bore me!" The courtiers along the walls shrunk back, frightened of him.

"What can stir my heart now? What can excite me?" Curufin sighed as though this were some great tragedy. "My masterpiece has already been finished."

"Come now my little darkies," he said, kicking at the floor, "tell me something else to entertain me."

"In response to your actions, my father has banned the use of Quenya in his realm and commands that none of his subjects will listen to it or speak it." Luthien said, holding her head high. "He commands that you respect his wishes."

"He…commands…me?" Curufin pointed to himself with a look of pure incredulity. "Your backwards, cave-dwelling, fool of a king presumes to command me?" His voice was quiet now, friendly almost, and this made Celeborn all the more frightened of him.

Curufin smiled, a twisted smile and clapped his hands. "Your attention please! Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please! Let us have a demonstration, shall we? This…princess…of the grey elves presumes to give his commands in my halls to my people. Well, let us all see which of us holds the power here!" And with that he turned, surveying those who stood in his court.

"Paniel, come here." Curufin said in Quenya and all eyes shifted towards a young Sindarin elf with flaxen hair, practically an elfling, wearing the uniform of a maid. She could have been no more than 25 years old. The blond maid cast her head down, pretending not to hear Curufin's words. Celeborn felt himself overwhelmed by nausea and now he wished most ardently that he had held his tongue earlier than that this girl should suffer because of the anger that he had incited.

"Paniel," Curufin repeated yet the girl showed no signs of acknowledging him. "She is one of your people is she not?" The Noldo looked at Celeborn and Luthien. "Let us have a demonstration then, let us demonstrate what will happen to all of those who obey Thingol's decrees over mine.

"Stop!" Luthin said, stepping forward, but Curufin pointed his sword at her. He strode over and grabbed the terrified elf maid by the arm, dragging her before his throne.

"You will kneel Paniel," he commanded, but the girl did nothing. With a face as calm as the empty sea, Curufin raised his sword and brought the heavy pommel crashing down upon the girl's head. She let out a shriek of pain and collapsed to the floor under the weight of the blow, weeping. Blood flowed freely from her head. "Stand up!" Curufin shouted but she did not rise. He kicked hard, the steel toe of his boot slamming into her jaw and this time she choked instead of shrieking, blood pouring from her mouth as she struggled to crawl away.

"You will stop," Celeborn said, striding forward and grabbing Curufin's arm. His brow was furrowed and his eyes furious, his face barely an inch from Curufin's. The Noldo moved to strike him but Celeborn held his arm fast; he was stronger than the Feanorian. "You will stop now and we will go." He said. "We will take this girl with us."

"I could kill you right now Sinda," Curufin whispered, his eyes like a snake's.

"Then I will be eagerly waiting for you in Mandos's halls." Celeborn ground out from between gritted teeth, hoping beyond hope that Curufin would not do something as suicidal as to kill the prince of Doriath in his own throne room and thereby bring certain war upon himself.

"Do you think that you are so superior to me?" Curufin whispered so that only Celeborn could hear. "Do you think yourself pure because you have not spilled elven blood? I was like you once, righteous, just. But that line is not so thin as you would like to think and…once you have crossed it…oh, once you have crossed it there is no going back and not because you cannot, no, it is because you do not want to. Do not lie to me, Celeborn. Do not lie to yourself. You want to kill me and you would if given the chance. You too would slay elves."

And the Noldo's words shook Celeborn's heart to its core, for it seemed as though the elf lord had read, in the matter of the moment, all of his thoughts of the past few years, as if he knew the atrocities that Celeborn had committed in his mind, as if he knew that unforgiveable thing that he had done. "We are leaving now." He managed to gasp the words out somehow.

And though his words had no power in them, it seemed that Luthien crackled with it as she stepped forward to stand between her cousin and the mad king, her body clothed in blue flame, her eyes gone completely white, her dark hair writhing like a mass of snakes. "You will be silent and you will raise a hand in anger to no one," the princess hissed and the voice with which she spoke was unfamiliar, deeper than a man's and otherworldly, as if it came from some void beyond time or space.

Like a spoiled child, the Noldo seemed to back down at those words, smiling and laughing as he swaggered away, though he seemed quite shaken, and his people flattened themselves against the walls, trembling in fear. "Fine, get out." He said. Celeborn turned away but kept one eye on the dark haired Noldo as Luthien scrambled to pick up Paniel from the floor. But, as they rushed towards the exit, the door opened of its own accord to admit another of Feanor's sons.

"Celegorm!" He heard Curufin call. "How glad I am that you have returned!"

"Keep moving," he whispered to Luthien and they did, out the door past Celegorm and into the maze of hallways. And yet as they went Celegorm's eyes remained fixed upon Luthien, lit with a sudden dark fervor. But the two Sinda paid him no heed in their rush to escape and, behind them, Celeborn could hear Curufin speaking to Celegorm and he heard the two of them laugh. Paniel could hardly stand and so Celeborn took her arm from Luthien's shoulder and picked her up, carrying her like a babe.

"Which way is it?" He asked frantically.

"Wait!" Luthien paused and then whistled a simple tune, a nightingale's song. She listened intently then to something, he knew not what, and then pointed to their right. "It is this way!" They moved, pausing every now and then for Luthien to repeat her whistle and indicate which direction to move in, until at last they were back in the entryway, practically running down the aisle of iron columns. Celeborn had feared that they would not be allowed to leave yet, as they approached the doors swung open and they stumbled out into a veritable blizzard to find that their guards and horses were exactly where they had left them.

"My Lord! My Lady!" The guards stumbled forward on stiff legs, concern clearly written across their faces. "We feared for your lives!"

"Did they not shelter you?" Celeborn asked, irate, for he could see how cold all of them were and ice was crusted in the manes of the horses. His guards unanimously shook their heads no. "Come, let us ride, and swiftly." He said, taking his weapons back from his soldiers. They rode hard for an hour and then stopped so that Luthien might check on Paniel's condition. The girl was still unconscious but she was breathing. One of the female guards who was skilled in healing helped Luthien get the girl down from the horse and, while they saw to Paniel, Glindir, the leader of Celeborn's guards led his horse over to the prince so that he might speak with him.

"Your highness, might I ask what occurred in that place? You were gone nearly eight hours! I was on the verge of sending scouts back to Thingol to raise an army." The warden's quick grey eyes were concerned.

"That is a house of horrors," was all that Celeborn managed to say. "But let us not speak of this here. Once we return to Menegroth I shall tell you the tale in full, for it is the sort of tale that one only wishes to tell once. Only now we must concentrate on returning to Thingol as soon as we can. Glindir, you have my most sincere thanks for your service," he said, placing his hand on the warden's shoulder. "I am sorry if I have put you in any danger."

"Of course my Lord. It is always an honor to serve you and to serve Doriath," Glindir replied, but grave concern still haunted his eyes.

"For the sake of the Valar!" Luthien exclaimed as she opened Paniel's mouth. "Her jaw is broken but I believe it can be repaired." The others moved over to watch her more closely as she reached gently into the girl's mouth and pulled out a handful of broken teeth. "One, two, three, four…She has five missing…She must have swallowed the fifth…or else it was lost upon the floor." She moved her hands to the girl's scalp, parting the hair there so that she might better see the wound. "This is not as bad as it could have been," she said. "She will suffer from a severe concussion no doubt, but there will be no lasting damage so long as infection does not set in." She held her hands over the wound and whispered words of healing. "We must get her back to Menegroth as soon as possible and we must inform my father of all that has passed." Her unflinching grey eyes met Celeborn's green ones.

The soldiers loaded the injured girl onto a horse but Celeborn stayed, squatting on the ground for a moment and Luthien bent to touch his arm. "What is it?" She whispered quietly.

"It was as if he knew all of my thoughts," Celeborn said in a strangled whisper, "as though he could read my very heart and mind like an open book. He knew what I have done. He knew my feelings better than I did. Somehow he knew."

"That is impossible," Luthien said firmly. "He knew that you loved Artanis once. It would not be so difficult for anyone to surmise that slandering her would anger you. Whatever else he said to you I do not know, but his words were evil, like poison. Do not let them cloud your heart, cousin. He would seek to make all like him."

"Am I not like him?" Celeborn whispered, the fear that had been plaguing him since they had left, for he had recalled his thoughts in the years after Artanis had left, the strange perversions that had crossed his mind, the boredom that had nearly driven him mad.

"You could not be more different!" Luthien said, her eyes flashing, and she offered him a hand up.

It was a good three to four days ride from Himlad to Menegroth but they did it in half the time and Celeborn was nearly sure that his horse would die of exhaustion beneath him yet, by some miracle, the animal persevered and they reached the gates of Menegroth by nightfall of the second day. Melian must have anticipated their arrival for as soon as the gates opened Mablung came running out looking a good deal more concerned than Celeborn had ever seen him look. Never was he more grateful to see the great bull-like march warden.

"Celeborn, tell me, what is the matter?" He asked. "Melian saw…"

"My party must speak to Thingol as soon as possible and have the healers summoned immediately. We have met with an extraordinarily bad situation." Celeborn managed to get out. He was still breathing hard and his heart was hammering in his chest from the exertion.

"My friend, I am glad that you are alive and well," Mablung embraced him. "I do not trust those Feanorians, not in the slightest. I half expected that we should next meet in Mandos's dark halls."

"You were very nearly right. It was Luthien who had the presence of mind to help us escape unscathed," Celeborn replied as the party stepped in from the cold at last. In this particular moment, there was no finer place to them than home. They had barely entered the city when Thingol came rushing towards them, running at full speed, a most unusual sight.

"Luthien, Celeborn!" His face was a wreck of worry as he embraced them tightly, first Luthien and then Celeborn. "My children, forgive me. If I had known how dangerous the situation was I would have sent an entire army with you. I never imagined that the Feanorians would be so bold as to threaten the lives of the prince and princess of Doriath! Please, I beg your forgiveness." He was truly distraught, nearly on the verge of tears.

"Father," Luthien embraced Thingol again and Celeborn saw that tears had risen in the King's eyes though they did not fall. Melian came running then, her golden slippers striking a sharp staccato beat upon the ground. She did not need to say anything at all, for they could plainly read in her face that she had seen all of it.

"Oh my daughter," her voice was trembling and Celeborn wondered that a Maia's voice could be made to tremble. He would never have believed it. "Celeborn, nephew," Melian said, embracing him, a great strength in her thin arms as she held him tight. He almost worried that she would crush him on accident with her anxiety. Just then the healers arrived to take Paniel, placing her gently on a stretcher and receiving instructions from Luthien before they bustled off.

"What was that?" Thingol asked with a skeptical eye.

"The terrible works of Curufin Feanorian," Luthien replied, her eyes flashing. "But we shall speak of everything in order."

"Are the Feanorians truly as…Artanis…said?" The king asked. It was the first time that he had spoken of her in many years and her name did not fall from his mouth as comfortably as it once had. Celeborn shook his head grimly.

"They were worse, far worse. There are no words she could have said that would have adequately painted them as they truly are." His jaw clenched angrily at the memory.

"Come, come, let us adjourn to my council chamber and we will speak of everything." Thingol said. He turned to the march wardens, "Glindor, come and bring your wardens as well. We shall need to hear what everyone has to say. And Mablung, you must come, for I want you to hear the tale and relay it to Beleg when he returns from our borders. Galathil," he turned to the wide-eyed herald, "send for my council. See that they are all assembled."

"You know that everything he said about Artanis was a lie," Luthien whispered to Celeborn as they walked, her eyes flashing as she grasped his arm firmly. "Not a word of it was true. He hates her because she defies him and he seeks to ruin her because of it."

"Why should I care what he says about her?" Celeborn said stiffly. "Why should I care anything about her?" Nevertheless, he reached out to rub the hand that his cousin had placed upon his arm.

"It is over now," She whispered.

"Luthien? Celeborn?" Thingol had turned back to look at them. "Come here and walk with me if you would. I find that I am loath to let you go too far from me at the moment. You must forgive my paranoia."

Once they reached the council chamber they all were seated and together Luthien and Celeborn told the entire tale down to the last detail, after which Glindor told of how the guards had been locked out in the cold and not allowed entry or hospitality. The telling took a very long time indeed for there were many instances where Thingol grew so agitated that he was no longer able to listen. At these times they would all fall silent while the king paced about the room or spoke to his wife in hushed tones. Celeborn did not think that he had ever seen Thingol so irate. Even when Artanis had told him of the kinslaying it had not been this bad.

"You swear that all of this is the truth and nothing but the truth, down to the very word?" Thingol asked, turning away from the wall and tenting his fingers on the table. His face was red and there was a vein throbbing in his temple. Celeborn could hear him breathing hard through his nostrils and he knew that the king was incensed. Luthien nodded.

"He spoke in this manner to the prince of Doriath, the most powerful kingdom in all of Endor, and to the princess of Doriath, my own blood and heir?" It was a rhetorical question so none gave answer but Thingol sat down heavily, his anger quiet, controlled, dangerous.

"This is very dark news indeed, the darkest I have yet heard. Artanis told us of dark things but I find that I had not fully grasped the depth of them until now. Nor was I able to fully comprehend that of which she spoke. I find that I have a new understanding now that I have heard of the true character of the Feanorians."

"He is truly mad," Celeborn said. "This oath that drives them will turn them all to insanity before the end."

"Then I have underestimated the danger that we are in." Thingol sighed a ponderous sigh. "We must be more vigilant, prepare ourselves, and we must gather information." His knuckles were still white from anger as he rapped them absentmindedly against the wooden table. "Mablung, Glindor, you shall consult with Beleg when he returns from the borders and with the other march wardens. You are to devise a plan. I want to have eyes and ears in the north so that I might know all that passes amongst the Feanorians."

"Celeborn," he turned towards the prince, "You will not join the other march wardens. I need you now as a diplomat rather than a soldier. The time is not yet ripe to renew an alliance with the children of Finarfin, but in time I shall need to gather information from them regarding the Feanorians and it may be that we shall need them as allies. For they have a particular insight that we do not and it seems that, perhaps, I overestimated the part that Artanis played in this even as I underestimated the evil her cousins are capable of. I hope that I can depend upon you for that?"

"Of course uncle," Celeborn replied.

"I will send messengers to our other cities within the girdle and I shall send you as an emissary to seek out the green elves and to the few Avari tribes scattered throughout Beleriand. For though I do not expect them to join us in battle should a war arise, they still ought to be aware of the circumstances and the danger that they are in. Furthermore, I wish you to remind them that if they are so inclined, I should be happy to welcome them within the safety of Doriath's girdle. You will undertake this mission first, for I must think long and hard on what I wish you to say to Finrod and I will need more time to do so."

"Your wish is my command my king," Celeborn said, though he did not sound pleased about it.

"And what of me father?" Luthien asked. "I am able to journey to Nargothrond if you wish or work in any other way for the good of my kingdom."

"Luthien…" Thingol began, raising his hand, his face clouded with worry, "let us not speak of this now."

"But father!" Luthien exclaimed. "I am the princess of Doriath, ought I not work for the good of my people? I desire this more than anything father, to protect and safeguard my kingdom! It is my duty! You allowed me to go to Himlad…" But Thingol interrupted her, raising his hand once more in a gesture that bid her be silent.

"That is exactly the problem," he said, his voice growing steely as though scolding a child. "You could have been killed there and I was fool enough to send you. We shall talk of this no more now, not in front of everyone." Melian's gaze tightened, looking at her husband with displeasure and Luthien's eyes welled with tears and the markings of anger, so similar to her father.

"Fine, fine then," she blurted out before turning on her silver slippered heel and striding from the room, letting the door slam closed behind her.

"If you would excuse me," Thingol bowed his head to those gathered there, "I should like to be left alone at this moment to consider the many things I have heard this evening. You all have your assignments. I trust that you will carry them out to the best of your ability for Doriath's sake." They stood and moved to the door. "Except you, Celeborn."

"Uncle?" The prince returned to the table while the door closed behind the others as they exited. He was used to being held behind after the others departed. Thingol often sought his council in private.

"Sit," Thingol bade him, gesturing to a chair, and Celeborn sat gingerly for there was a tension in the room now emanating from Melian and he could tell that she was displeased with her husband.

"Forgive me, husband, nephew, I shall go see to my daughter," she said, her voice husky, before sweeping from the room. The air seemed to quiver in her wake, as though a hurricane had just moved through it and perhaps it had in a way, for the flames of the candles and lanterns flickered as if they would almost go out before growing strong once more. Thingol watched her go with a look that was simultaneously concerned yet firm.

"It appears that Melian and I do not always share the same views on child-rearing. Perhaps you shall find in the future that you face the same issue." The king said. Celeborn's jaw tightened.

"Unless you have some matter of importance then I see no point in your having held me here Uncle," Celeborn said tersely and Thingol sighed.

"Speak your mind," the King said, with a flourish of his mind. "I have asked you to stay because I know that look of yours, that look you get when there is something that you want to say very badly."

"Why can you not send Luthien to Nargothrond, or Beleg, Mablung, Oropher, anyone else?" Celeborn said. "And why must you send me to the Avari? Amdir has not forgotten what happened at Amon Ereb and I too, am loathe to recall the events of the Battle of Beleriand."

"I thought you might say that," Thingol replied. "What I allow Luthien to do and what I do not allow her to do is none of your concern. Beleg and Mablung are but soldiers and not representative of my diplomatic authority. Your cousin Oropher, as we both know, is hardly cut out for any mission requiring delicacy. You may both be in the habit of speaking before you think but at least the majority of what comes out of your mouth at such times is not idiocy."

"Then Galathil perhaps," Celeborn replied and Thingol's mouth turned to a thin line.

"A mere herald? No, I think not. You have made your own bed, Celeborn, do not act so surprised to find that you must now lay in it," the King said. "I have my reasons for sending you."

Celeborn drummed his fingers on the table. "I wish you would tell me what those are."

"And why, so that you may disagree, and argue with me, and still be sent regardless?" Thingol asked. Celeborn at least, it seemed, still had the sense to realize when he could not argue his way out of a losing battle and so he made no reply.

You are too young for the kinslaying to have as much of an impact upon you as it has upon me. You were born after the great migration and to you their names may signify nothing, like characters from a fairytale. Yet I personally knew those who were slain, my kin, the Teleri of Aqualonde. Finwe was my friend and Olwe, whose kingdom was destroyed by the kinslaying is my brother. My brother, your grandfather, Elmo, I must presume to be dead. Your father, Galadhon, who was like my own son has been lost. Olwe and I alone survive and now I find that my kingdom is encroached upon from all sides by Belegur and the Noldor alike. How long will it be until there are none of us who remain? I depend upon you Celeborn. Do not let me down. You may go," Thingol told him, and the prince rose with a stiff bow before leaving.

* * *

><p>"It is good, sister, to see you smile once more," Finrod said as they walked through the gardens arm in arm.<p>

"Yes, I quite think so," Artanis replied with a laugh, reaching down to touch a hand to the green stone she wore and, even as her fingers touched it she felt a warm glow seep into her skin. "It seems to make even your Nargothrond less loathsome to me. It is a dull business indeed, being so somber."

"Nor does somberness suit you, Nerwen," Finrod said with a smile, anticipating the elbow in his ribs that followed shortly thereafter.

"No, she said," smiling back at her brother, "and neither, I think, does Celebrimbor, though I have found that I am not as averse to his company as before."

"It is not friendship he seeks," Finrod said with a chuckle and a quirk of his golden brow.

"Quite obviously," Artanis replied. "And, whether or not you may believe me, I will tell you that I have come to see him as something more than a friend as well."

"You have?" Finrod was clearly surprised. "Then…"

"You were right," she said, turning about to face her brother with a smile. "Though he may have his faults, he has a good heart and I can see it at last. He can offer me many things that I want and, indeed, many things I desire but did not anticipate: safety, security, peace. I have no doubt that I could be happy with him, that I would grow to love him." She shook her head. "But that is not my choice."

"Then what do you want that you prize more than safety, security, and peace?" Firnod asked her with a laugh.

"I want to be part of something I believe in," she said, "and I want freedom."

"And you do not believe in those things?" He asked her "You don't believe in security and the like?"

"I do," she said. "But I also believe in perseverance, infighting for what you love, I believe in doing good not only for oneself, but for one's people, and in standing your ground for what you believe to be just. And those things I love the greater, though they may not afford me much peace or safety. What is more, if I would have security, or anything for that matter, I would rather win it by my own hand than have it given to me by Celebrimbor or by anyone else."

Finrod reached out and took his sister's hand. "You sound very much like a Sinda at the moment," he said.

"I would imagine so," she replied and Finrod sighed.

"Artanis, I will support you in your decision it…I…it is just that I hope you are not making this choice with the expectation that you and Celeborn can reconcile. Celeborn, well, it is just that the love for you is gone from his heart and you, nor anyone else can force it to return. Even he himself could not do so. You do not even know if you will ever be allowed to return to Menegroth and, if you do… Celeborn is so very stubborn and so extraordinarily obstinate that I worry that you will dash yourself to pieces against him ere he changes his mind."

"Well of course he is stubborn and obstinate, brother. He is a Sinda is he not?"

"He is the high prince of all Sindar and it seems his stubbornness is proportionate," Finrod laughed long and hard. "Very well then, but I would not expect Celebrimbor to be anything less than very angry with you."

"I do not see why he should not be happy with the stars, even if he cannot have the moon," she said.

"Would you be happy with anything less than you desired?" Finrod asked her.

"No I would not," Artanis said, having taken his point, "and no I am not."

Finrod laughed at that, shaking his head, but his sister stopped, holding the Elessar up to the warm rays of the sun that filtered through the trees.

"Then I expect that you should prepare to return your little present to him along with your answer," Finrod said with a laugh, but Artanis shot him a teasing glare of spite.

"And why is that?" She asked. "It was not a conditional gift. My retaining it is not dependent upon whether or not I return the love he bears me. He gave it to me only so that I would be happy again."

"You may very well think that," Finrod told her with a chuckle, "and perhaps Celebrimbor has even made himself believe that, but this world is a cruel mistress and she exacts a price in return for every treasure she surrenders, so do most men grow agitated when they do not receive what they see as due recompense for the gifts they given, even if they themselves are not conscious of their own expectations."

"And cynicism does not become you, brother," Artanis said with a laugh, bending to examine a bush of pink roses. "Celeborn asked everything of me and yet he never forced me to do a single thing against my own will."

And Finrod was glad to see that his sister could say the Prince's name now with a laugh rather than a tear. "I said 'most' men Artanis, not all of them. You must not always be comparing everyone to Celeborn, for he is not without faults of his own and he is what one might call a strange bird but, more than that, those who truly love you will not put such expectations upon you." Artanis stood, her gaze flickering to her brother's.

"So you do not believe that Celebrimbor truly loves me?" She asked.

"I do not know," Finrod said. "Perhaps he does but, as you said yourself, his jealous streak persists, which is one of the reasons that I believe he will demand you give that trinket back."

"Fie!" She said, "you mustn't call it a trinket brother, it is far to grand for that!" She laughed. "Ah, but I should certainly hate to give it up."

"You don't need gems to make you happy," Finrod laughed. "Wouldn't you rather have the freedom to earn happiness yourself as well, rather than having it handed to you?" He parroted her earlier words.

"But I do love gems so very much," she said.

"Believe me when I say that I am well aware of that," he told her.

"So then," she said, glancing up at him once more with a grin, "if you don't intend to force me to marry Celebrimbor that must mean that you truly love me brother."

"I never intended to force you to marry Celebrimbor!" Finrod cried. "I merely think you should expand your options!" But Artanis only laughed at his momentary unrest.

"Very well," she said, "then I shall believe you. But I must be going I fear, for it is near high noon already and Celebrimbor does grow ever so upset if I am but a moment late."

"You ought to tell him, Artanis!" Finrod called after her. "Do not dally!"

"Perhaps!" She called with a wave of her hand, "but I rather think I would like to have but a little more time with my _trinket_!" And Finrod sighed in exasperation, though he had to admit that it was good to see her in such high spirits.

"I was beginning to wonder where you had got to," Celebrimbor said as she entered the smithy and, though he said it with a smile, Artanis knew him well enough to detect the undercurrent of irritation in his voice. Though his heart was kinder and his demeanor more modest, he was not so unlike his grandfather as he liked to think.

"I was with Finrod," she said by way of explanation as she seated herself in her usual spot on the stool beside her workbench, placing her elbows there on the table and propping her chin up on her hands.

"Timeliness is a virtue," Celebrimbor said and Artanis laughed, thinking it a joke, for it would have been a joke if Celeborn had said it, but the dark-haired elf did not laugh, merely raising his eyes for a fraction of a second to glance at her before he returned to his goblet.

"Surely you cannot begrudge me the time I have spent with my brother," she said, lighthearted, and yet she was not so sure that Celebrimbor was in agreement.

"Of course not," he replied, as though this were a silly thing for her to have said, but she found that she did not believe him, for it felt as though he still read her tardiness as a slight she had intentionally made against him.

"It is very fine," she said, "that goblet you are making." As she had expected, her praise of his work caused him to brighten visibly.

"Thank you," he replied, excitement now evident in his voice, "it is, perhaps, the finest one I have yet made."

"And does it have any particular powers?" She asked him curiously. Celebrimbor laughed.

"No," he said, "I am afraid it is merely a normal goblet."

"Hardly normal," she laughed, "a fantastic goblet." Something about his work did fascinate her, the intricacy of it, his attention to detail, the ingenuity with which he combined materials she would never have thought to use. Watching him work was equivalent to watching art being made. "Is it a gift for anyone?"

"Not in particular," he told her, "it is merely for my own edification that I craft this. But perhaps I will give it to Finrod or Orodreth or someone if they take a liking to it." He set the cup aside for a moment and smiled at her. "Speaking of gifts," he said, nodding towards the Elessar, "I am glad to see that my gift has had its intended effect. It is good to hear you laugh again, Artanis."

"Yes, well, It is not surprising to me, for you seem to be the master of all that you turn your hand to," she said, having meant it as a compliment, but from the stormy look that flashed upon his face but momentarily, she wondered if some of Celeborn's temperament had rubbed off on her, for it had clearly been the wrong thing to say.

"There is one thing that has not turned to my hand," he said simply before returning his attention to the goblet he was crafting while Artanis toyed with the Elessar.

For perhaps he had realized, even as she had, that the very stone he had crafted had betrayed him. Finrod was wise, and what he had said was true, for Artanis knew that Celebrimbor had crafted the Elessar for her out of kindness but she also knew Celebrimbor's character, and thus she was aware that he must have secretly hoped that the Elessar, in repairing her heart, would also turn her to his will: that she might, through its healing power, remember Aman, their homeland, as a joyous place, and that she would look upon him and see renewed promise; in this, he had doubtlessly hoped that she would find it in her heart to love him at last.

Yet in the years since he had given it to her, and in the years since he had kissed her, she had lain awake each night, turning the Elessar between her fingers, its green light glowing even in the dark of her chambers. And, at those times, in the sacred silence of her heart and under the cover of the secret veil of the night, it was not Celebrimbor that she thought of, but Celeborn, for nothing so resembled the green of his eyes as the Elessar's sheen of sunlight upon summer leaves. And it was not Aman that she saw renewed, but Doriath, where she had been so very happy.

Celebrimbor must have wondered whether this stone might heal the rift between the two of them. But she, on the other hand, wondered to herself if the Elessar might even have the power to heal the damage that she had wrought, to soothe and soften Thingol's heart, to bring peace of mind and peace of heart to the kingdom of Menegroth, to heal the hurt that she had seen last in her lover's eyes. The Elessar had engendered in her the hope that all was not lost and it was that which was the reason for her laughter, the cause for her smile. And it was the Elessar itself that had turned her heart from him, for how could she give it to him fully, as he deserved, while it yet remained full of another?

After decades of restless sleep she had finally, with the Elessar upon her breast, found comfort in slumber, for when she wore it, she could see in her visions that Celeborn was still here, at her side, his heart unbroken, their love made new from the ashes of deceit; that he would gather her into his arms, and she would tell him how very sorry she was, how much she regretted all that she had done, and he would kiss her brow and call her once more _Galadriel._ A whisper in the night, the name echoed about her chamber before it was swallowed by the silence.

* * *

><p>"We were extraordinarily pleased, your royal highness, to hear that you had returned from Himlad unscathed," Saeros offered as the councilors seated themselves around the long table.<p>

"I should certainly hope so," Celeborn said with a tight-lipped smile as he flipped his ledger open. Though Thingol preferred to use a scribe, it was one of Celeborn's habits to take note of the proceedings himself. He found it focused and settled his mind. His footman handed him a pot of ink and he dipped the quill in, blotting the tip on a scrap of paper as he drummed the fingers of his other hand impatiently on the lacquered tabletop.

"Though you did not return unchanged, or so it seems," Saeros continued, his voice oily, wheedling, and Celeborn looked up in exasperation at the Minister of the Interior. _How very, very typical of him_, he though.

"If you have something you wish to say then have out with it now," he commanded the councilor, his voice polite, though he felt as though he wished to be anything but.

"Oh, nothing, nothing your royal highness," Saeros said, feigning an air of innocence and concern that was ill suited to him, like a wolf wearing a sheep's skin. _He does not even possess the grace of subtlety,_ Celeborn thought. The other councilors shifted uncomfortably in their chairs but remained silent as they dared not interrupt either the senior-most minister or the prince. "It is only that, well, after the…tragic events involving your beloved there were many who wondered if you would still be up to the task of governing. The heart does addle the mind after all, or so it has been said by greater minds than I. For a while, at least…you seemed so very…oh what's the word…tired."

Celeborn carefully set his quill down and folded his hands before him, trying with all of his mental fortitude to resist the tempting prospect of lobbing the jar of ink at Saeros. He briefly considered reminding the minister of his own melancholy after his wife's indiscretion with Mablung but decided that it would not do, for Saeros would not forget such a slight and, ever after, he would be searching for a way to break even with Celeborn over it, or worse, Mablung would receive yet another dose of Saeros's anger.

The prince found the strength at last, though only just barely, to control his temper and said, "I thank you for your heartfelt concern, minister. I have found that the trip to Himlad was precisely what I needed to reinvigorate my spirits. There is much to be said for the benefits of facing an adversary head on and, having at last seen for myself the madness that plagues the sons of Feanor, my mind is bent more fully than ever upon protecting Doriath from involvement in the quarrels of the Noldorin princes."

"I am glad to hear that, your highness," Saeros smiled. "There were those of us who were beginning to wonder."

"We all have our moments don't we?" Celeborn said with a smile, "perfection is, after all, the province of the Valar is it not?" He glanced around the table, and each of the ministers dropped his or her head in turn. And indeed, there had been at least one moment, in many cases more than one, where each of them had made some egregious error for which they had begged the King's forgiveness. Lust, greed, sloth, envy…his eyes settled on Mablung, Venessiel, Fingaeron, Saeros, and continued down the table until they all appeared duly chastised, or at least duly silenced.

"Well then," Celeborn said cheerfully. "Enough dallying about with pleasantries." The King has asked us to look into this matter of logging near Himring. We have had reports from Nellas, the chieftain of the Mithrim in that region regarding confrontations that our people in that area have had with Maedhros's people."

"They are fickle fools!" He cried later, with only the King for company. Thingol gave a ponderous sigh and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and propping his feet up on his desk in a most unkingly manner. "One minute Saeros is berating me over Artanis and making insinuations about my ties to the Noldor and in the next moment he leads a decisive vote against taking action against Maedhros for the protection of our people!"

Thingol merely laughed and Celeborn turned, one eyebrow raised severely, pointing a finger at his uncle and said, "this is no laughing matter Uncle!"

"I merely enjoy seeing you so animated," Thingol grinned. "It is reminiscent of how you were in the years just after the rising of the sun: so young, chomping at the bit." Celeborn glowered.

"You are the second person who has remarked upon my vigor today," Celeborn said with a scowl.

Thingol ignored his comment and said, "it is not often nowadays that the cards do not fall as you choose. You have grown unaccustomed to failure, Celeborn."

"It is not that I am unaccustomed to it, it is that I am unaccustomed to so much of it! Nothing, in recent years has gone the way that I have planned." Celeborn seethed.

"And it does irk you so." Thingol chuckled. "You know how they are, Celeborn, fighting, and bickering, and looking out oh so carefully for themselves."

"Then disband the entire cabinet!" Celeborn fumed. "Let us bring in entirely new ministers."

"Disband the whole cabinet?" Thingol asked with a raised eyebrow. "Where oh where has your wisdom led you now my son? Why fear the Noldor, or indeed Melkor himself, with twelve angry lions in your own bed? They have all been in those positions for hundreds of years – "

"And all the better reasons to rid ourselves of them," Celeborn retorted. "They are ensconced in power, in corruption. What better reason to clean house?"

"And what would you do, if you replaced them?" Thingol asked. "They would have nothing to fill their time but to wander about Menegroth and, fueled by anger, raise up opposition against you. And how would you control them then? You would no longer have their positions and the promise of royal favor to hold over them. No. You want them exactly where they are now. While they still hold their positions they have reason to fear you, for you can take from them their livelihood, if you so choose. And is it not better, after all, to keep your enemies close by, where you may be intimately aware of their plots and thereby counter them?"

"What a lovely picture you paint, Uncle," Celeborn said with a scowl, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against a bookshelf so that he could face his uncle. "Prisoners in our own palace who must bribe, and connive, and cheat, and lie, and subterfuge to get even the simplest thing done."

But Thingol seemed not to find the whole mess as upsetting as Celeborn did and the King merely laughed again and said. "They are also, all very adept at their jobs. There is a reason that I have assigned them to the positions that they hold and a reason that I have allowed them to remain in those positions year after year, century after century. True, they have their vices, but I would wager that their merits are the greater. And you, Celeborn, have been dealing with them long enough that this should not be news to you." Celeborn ground his teeth and looked very put off. Thingol laughed again. "I would hope that you would have realized that your…erm…"

"Call it what it was Uncle."

"Your ill-fated relationship with Artanis would have some impact on your political standing." Thingol finished.

"They were displeased the entire time I was with her and, while I had her, I found that I did not care. I had thought that they might be pleased now that she is gone, that my favor with them would grow. But, instead I find that they seem only all the more eager to do me what damage they can." Celeborn fumed.

"You must learn not to have any expectations with them, Celeborn," Thingol mused. "Or at least you ought to set your expectations very low. Then it will be a pleasant surprise indeed if things turn out better than you expect. You young elves are always thinking you can change the world in one fell swoop! Ha! Drudgery and toil, Celeborn. Drudgery and toil!" He laughed boisterously but Celeborn only glowered. If there had been any humor in what the king had said then it was clearly past him.

"Will you do nothing to help me remedy this situation?" Celeborn asked and Thingol shook his head.

"No, I think you have it quite in hand," he replied, taking his boots from his desk and leaning forward with clasped hands. "I trust you. I have raised you as a King after all." Celeborn rolled his eyes. "What do you do when you fall from your horse?" The King asked.

"Get back on it," Celeborn replied monotonously, as though this were an answer he had memorize long ago and recited a thousand times by rote.

"Very good," Thingol said. "Then you had best saddle up. Win them," the King said. "Win their votes. A soldier who falls and rises is worth twice the respect of one who has never fallen, for a man who has never fallen from his horse has never faced a worthy adversary. And your Artanis – "

"Do not call her my Artanis," Celeborn spat. "Do not associate me with her or with her deeds."

"Well I may not have liked her very much," Thingol said with a laugh, "but I often found I could not help but respect her. She has more mettle in her than there is in every member of that cabinet combined. A worthy adversary indeed." He smiled. "If you can survive a woman like that, you can survive anything."


	16. Chapter 16: Caged Birds

**Caged Birds**

Doriath: 16th Chapter

* * *

><p>"Give me the waters of Lethe that numb the heart, if they exist,<p>

I will still not have the power to forget you."

- _Ovid_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> I swear that this is the last of the super long chapters (for now). Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and especially to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it!

* * *

><p>There was a reason that Thingol had given the task of alerting the green elves and the Avari to Celeborn. It was true that Beleg and Maglor were superior warriors, though not by very much, or so Celeborn liked to think to himself. But, there was none who knew the land better than Celeborn, not even Thingol himself, and even Melian, for all of her prescience and power, could not sense the earth as well as he.<p>

Finding the green elves had been easy enough, for though they were adept at hiding from the Noldor and especially from Melkor's beasts, they had no reason or desire to hide from the Sindar. And, having fought together for hundreds of years, the Sindar were well accustomed to their ways and could track them easily.

They had journeyed to Arthorien, within the guarded forests of Doriath where the guest elves were and then onwards to Ossiriand, where some of Denethor's people still lived outside of the girdle. Whereas the elves of Arthorien had come out readily to greet them, the elves of Ossiriand had been harder to find, having become accustomed to hiding from Melkor's orcs. Yet, when they had seen that it was Celeborn and a host from Menegroth that approached they had readily revealed themselves, listening in full to the message.

After that, Celeborn's party had turned southward, seeking the Avari and this would be a difficult search for the Avari preferred to remain hidden and unknown, even from the Sindar, for whom they bore no love. They were a secretive people and did not congregate in large numbers as the green elves did. Rather, they were grouped into tribes, nomadic groups that travelled in small numbers of fifteen to twenty led by a chieftain. Other than that they had no centralized structure and their chieftains met only in times of dire emergency. The last time that Celeborn had seen any of them had been at the Battle of Beleriand and even then not many of them had come.

But the Sindar were not searching at random. There was a particular Avarin tribe that Celeborn was tracking, for if any could be called the king of the Avari it was this chieftain in particular. His name was Amdir and he was part Avari by birth, though his mother had been a Sinda of Doriath. He had lived as a Sinda once upon a time, a march warden of Doriath and Thingol's ambassador to the Avari until the battle of Beleriand.

How very distant that seemed, Celeborn thought, the times when they had fought in segregated units, but at the time it had seemed only natural. For the green elves naturally preferred to follow Denethor, their own king, and though there had been Avarin born soldiers in the ranks of Doriath's march wardens, they had refused to serve under Sindarin commanders and would follow either Amdir or no one. But it was not all because Green Elves and Avari did not want to fight under Sindarin commanders, part of their aversion, and it was no small part, was due to the distaste that Sindarin soldiers had for elves that, in their minds, had ignored the summons of the Valar.

"If they will not follow even the Valar, then they certainly will not follow us into battle! They will break rank and abandon us to be slaughtered by Melkor's creatures!" They had whispered not so quietly in the alehouses in the years before the battle. "Those who would deny the Valar know nothing of loyalty! How can we trust them as allies?" And Celeborn felt shame wash over him as he remembered how he had sat quietly and listened to such talk. He could easily excuse it by saying that he had been young and had not known any better, but the truth was that it had not been so very long ago and he had not been so young as to merit such ignorance.

And yet everyone, it seemed, had accepted it as a natural thing that the regiments should be segregated. Only Mablung had spoken out against it, saying that as Sindar, Avari, and Green Elves all die the same he saw no reason why they ought not die together. He had been largely ignored and yet, in the end, it was Mablung who had proven the most prescient of all. But it had not been the Green Elves or the Avari who had abandoned the Sindar. Indeed, it was they who had been abandoned.

The Sindar had set out from Menegroth, a great army riding beneath the brilliant blue and silver of Thingol's banners, their armor and mail shining in the light of the stars. A great Sindarin army they had been, riding behind their King, and Celeborn himself had ridden at Thingol's side, for he had been given command of the eastern flank of the army, a prestigious post for one so young, but he was a prince of Doriath. Mablung had been on the western flank with Thingol commanding the main part of the army and Beleg's archers sped through the trees overtop of the galloping horses below.

Celeborn's heart had been filled with joy and with such excitement as he had never known before, for this was his chance at last to prove himself worthy of the great position that his uncle had granted to him, and an opportunity to prove his manhood in war. It was patriotism that had made his heart beat and he had been proud, oh so proud, to know that he was a Sinda by birth, a prince of the blood of Doriath. And when they had first broken from the forest to the east, coming upon Melkor's army, the sound of arrows whistling through the air had been to him the sweetest of sounds.

The army had cheered, and shouted, and chanted their war songs, but their voices began to falter and die as Belegur's army approached, for they saw now what his army was and it was then that they began to understand the full extent of Melkor's malice. Marching towards them were orcs, yes, but they were not as the other orcs they had discovered, for those had been strange creatures, blackened, charred as if burnt, of a strange build and they had not known where Belegur had discovered such creatures.

But as the army advanced, as they drew closer, they began to understand that he had not discovered them at all…he had…created them. It was all a perversion, a mockery of them, of elves. For the creatures marching towards them now were not yet orcs, but they were no longer elves either, though they had been once. They had been twisted and broken, but their faces were still familiar, faces of those they had once known, those they had once loved: friends and family, husbands and wives.

Celeborn's heart had broken out into a furious beat and his confidence, his pride of but a few moments earlier was entirely crushed and defeated, fear and despair quickly filling the vacuum left behind. Even his hands were trembling now and he did not feel like a general, though he was one, in shining new armor atop a fine charger, but as a child, and he wanted nothing more than to flee back to Menegroth and hide himself behind Melian's skirts but he stood, transfixed, as all of them stood, unable to believe this horror marching towards them.

A great crying and wailing rose up from the ranks of the Sindar and Celeborn turned towards Thingol, breathless, but the King's visage was calm as the calmest sea and he turned towards Celeborn and Mablung, who himself looked uncharacteristically shaken. "Do you see that?" He asked quietly. "That is what war is. That is who Belegur is. Look upon it well and do not forget it all the days of your life."

And then the king turned away, drawing his sword and raising it high in the air. "Doriath with me!" He cried. "Make ready to attack."

Celeborn gripped his axe with still trembling hands, trying to settle himself and called out in what he hoped was a voice more secure than he felt, "eastern flank with me!" He could hear the creaking of the bows as Beleg's archers, hidden in the tree line, nocked their arrows.

"Loose!" Thingol called, and the hail of white tipped arrows flew forth. "For Beleriand!" And they had charged.

It had not been the first time that Celeborn had killed. Indeed, he had been a warden since he was in his twenties, and yet something about killing seemed more difficult to him now, almost as though his heart were rebelling against it. Belegur had done this on purpose to mock them. Yet still he pushed forward, swinging his battle axe from the back of his horse, cutting his foes down as he rode, and his army followed him to the east as they had been trained to do, until they had moved against the eastern side of Belegur's army while Thingol pushed from the front and Mablung from the west. Having boxed the orcs in they were able to cut them down easily, and yet it was slow going simply because of the sheer numbers of them.

For many long hours the battle raged and Celeborn was soaked with sweat and with blood, some of it his own, by the time that the messenger came riding up to him. "Your Royal Highness," the elf woman gasped, quite out of breath, "King Denethor is trapped on Amon Ereb and requests immediate assistance."

"What? How can that be?" Celeborn exclaimed incredulously. "He was to rendezvous with us here, not there! Why has he proceeded alone to Amon Ereb?"

"I do not know your highness," the messenger said. "But King Thingol has ordered all forces to advance upon Amon Ereb with all haste, lest the Green Elves be overrun and routed."

"Tell the King that I have received his command and will obey," Celeborn said tersely and the messenger turned, galloping back towards where Thingol must be. "Forward!" Celeborn commanded and they leapt into the fray, pushing hard, as hard as they were able, for the hill in the distance. What could have caused Denethor to advance before they had planned it?

It was hard fighting, pushing through Belegur's army now, and Celeborn was aware that his numbers were dwindling, though his army was so great that many remained. His horse was cut out from beneath him and he fell, the soldiers swarming around to protect him, but he rose, cutting his way forward once more.

Thingol had gotten there first and by the time that they had reached the hill, Belegur's forces had drawn back somewhat. The fighting trailed off and at last stopped, during which there was a lull in the battle of a few hours while both sides regrouped. It was not good, Celeborn knew. He could see Thingol's sullen face from the crest of the hill and yet even as he climbed it he grew conscious of the fact that the bodies he was climbing over were those of green elves, not orcs. It had been a massacre. And when he reached the top of the hill at last he saw Thingol there, kneeling upon the ground, and cradled in his lap was Denethor's head, his body having been shot through with a myriad of black arrows.

"We were too late," Thingol whispered. "And all for nothing. They were slaughtered even as we pressed forward, needlessly spending Sindarin lives for a rescue that had failed before it began." He sounded angry and yet there were unspent tears in his eyes.

"Their armor was too weak!" Celeborn cried, angry, looking down at the corpses that surrounded him. They were dressed only in their usual clothing with sparse leather armor, carrying thin hunting bows, not the massive, strong, war bows that the Sindar carried. "Why would he go into battle with an army so ill prepared?"

"It is their land too," Thingol said, laying Denethor upon the ground and rising. "They have the right to fight for it, die for it if they see fit."

"Then they should have come to us!" Celeborn fumed. "We could have outfitted them properly."

"Do you think so?" Thingol said, turning to his nephew with an appraising eye. "I think they would rather have died as Green Elves than put on Sindarin armor."

"Then they were fools!" Celeborn cried, dismayed at the terrible loss of life, but his uncle turned upon him with savagery.

"They died in the way they saw fit, as they would have wished to die! You should learn before you speak! You are too young to know these things. My trust in you was misplaced. I can see that now. Come, I will take counsel." The king stalked back down the hill. "Burn the bodies," he instructed a commander whom he passed. "And do it quickly. I will not have those who died with honor perverted by the orcs."

They descended the hill to the King's war tent, which had only just now been erected, and entered within. Thingol's rebuke still burned hot in Celeborn's chest and he felt awash with shame, with anger. Beleg was not there, for he and his archers were moving in the tree tops, picking off Belegur's commanders, but Mablung was there, breathing hard, his shining armor dulled by blood and dirt, and Saeros as well, looking as upset as one could have expected to find him, given that nearly all of his kinsmen had just been slain. A few other commanders milled about yet just as they were about to convene about Thingol's war table a messenger burst through the door.

"Your Royal Highness," he addressed the king, "Beleg's scouts are reporting that the Avarin army has been cut off to the North. They are taking heavy casualties. Perhaps that is what urged Denethor to go forward ahead of time. He may have been seeking to help or extract them."

Thingol bristled. "I have not the strength nor the forces to seek to rescue yet another rogue army!" He cried. "We already sustained such dire losses in seeking to aid Denethor, and it was all for naught; he had already been slain! How could I possibly consider another such foolish attempt?"

"We cannot abandon them!" Oropher cried.

"We can and we must," Mablung replied. "We suffered heavy casualties in this last bout. We cannot risk doing it again. We might be cut off and we would not be able to fight our way back into Doriath. How many more would die needlessly? We are beyond wrong and right here. This is a matter of numbers and our numbers are insufficient."

"Denethor died because these Avari went rogue!" Saeros cried, having lost complete control of himself. "My people are dead because of them, because of that Amdir! Let him die. Let them all die!"

"Will death remedy death?" Oropher replied.

"Saeros!" Thingol turned on the commander. "This is not a personal matter, do not make it one."

Celeborn said nothing, but the anger was burning hot in his chest, lancing through him like lightening until he thought that he very well might explode with it. He glanced up and his eyes met Oropher's. His cousin seemed to know what he was thinking. The silver haired prince turned and quit the tent, stalking away, ignoring the shouts that followed him, the commands for him to return.

"Give me a horse," he commanded and someone handed him a pair of reins.

"Are you going?" He heard Oropher's voice behind him and turned to his cousin. The golden haired Sinda had fire in his eyes.

"Yes," Celeborn said simply. "I've already disappointed him; I have already lost his trust. What is one more disappointment?"

"Then I'm coming with you," Oropher proclaimed. "When they speak of the elves of Doriath let them not say that we abandoned our comrades to death on the battlefield. You saw those…those creatures that Belegur fashioned, those orcs. How are we any different from them if we abandon our brothers to such a fate? We would be just as twisted, just as foul."

Oropher too found a horse and Celeborn marshaled his army, telling them what he intended to do and informing them that they need not follow him if they did not wish, and some did not, but the greater part of them stepped forward and, turning northwards, they had began the assault.

Celeborn stood with a sigh, leaving his memories of the Battle of Beleriand behind. The ground here yielded no clues as to where Amdir's tribe might be. The Avari were wily and secretive and they knew the outskirts of Beleriand better than the Sindar, better even than the small force of gifted trackers and fighters he had brought with him.

They had travelled in the trees and on the ground, searching for snapped twigs, leaves that had been disturbed. Whenever they came across a cave they had entered it, looking for signs of a fire, yet the Avari were careful and they found very few clues as to their whereabouts, which forced them to proceed more slowly than they would have liked. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months and still they had not found them.

They were often forced to stop for hours at a time so that Celeborn could listen to the voices of the trees or so that he could lay with his ear pressed to the ground, listening. It was the only way that they made any progress and it was the only way they could be sure they were tracking Amdir's tribe.

"We will make camp here," Celeborn directed his wardens and they began to make a fire, unrolling their bedrolls around it, grateful for the rest. Though the daylight made it easier to track the Avari, it was too dangerous to rest at night, when orcs roamed free, and so they had been searching at night and sleeping during the day. Celeborn watched as the wardens set a brace of rabbits over the fire to cook. He did not feel particularly hungry, though he had not eaten in a while.

He had been haunted by the nightmares, the dreams of the Battle of Beleriand, ever since he and Luthien had returned from Himlad. And, as of late, his thoughts disturbed him so much that his appetite had waned, along with his interest in everything else, and so he walked a little ways away from the campsite, climbing a tall beech where he sat in the upper branches, feeling the breeze in his hair, listening to the rustling of the leaves around him, and trying to find some measure of peace.

Yet he was unable to forget the look in Curufin's eyes. It haunted his dreams - that insanity, it took him back to a time when there had been no sun and no moon. He found himself in the midst of the Battle of Beleriand once more, pushing forward and forward, ever forward, slaying orcs as he went, with Oropher at his side. They had seemed almost elven to him before and he had found it difficult to kill them, but now that he had seen what they had done to the Green Elves, what they had done to Denethor, he found almost a perverse delight in feeling the blade of his axe sink into orcish flesh.

Thingol had taught him to look an enemy in the eyes when dealing him death, the last sign of respect, and Celeborn did, enjoying the fear he saw in them, laughing as he rode, beheading them, slicing through their skulls, exposing their brain matter, trampling them beneath the hooves of his horse. The blood sprayed upwards, coating him in red, his armor was slick with it. Red and silver. Curufin holding the lock of hair that he had cut from his head, the bead of red blood trailing down it. Red and silver. Galadriel awash with blood in Alqualonde, surrounded by the corpses of her silver-haired Telerin relatives. Red and silver.

They had almost been too late, but when Celeborn, in a blood rage, had reached that spot where the Avari were, there were some of them still alive and, most miraculously of all, there was Amdir, still standing, though not unhurt.

"Celeborn," he had murmured in grateful thanks as he looked upon the Sindarin prince, "we had thought we would perish…" there was fear in his eyes too and Celeborn realized how he must look, awash in blood. Red and silver.

"Of course they would send you." The voice was quiet, barely indistinguishable from the breeze yet Celeborn's eyes snapped open upon hearing it, but his thoughts of the Battle of Beleriand were not entirely forgotten, for that was the last time that he had ever heard that voice. Amdir. "Don't move. Your wardens do not know I am here." The Avari said. Celeborn could not see Amdir but he could see the two sentinels pacing several yards away, oblivious to the fact that the Avari chieftain was in their midst.

"I will speak to you but I will speak to you alone." The voice was coming from above but Celeborn did not raise his eyes, did not wish to provoke Amdir's ire. If the Avari wished to remain unseen then he would allow him that. "There is a stream about a mile north of here, follow it east until you come to a tall pine. I will meet you there at noon. Bring no one with you." Amdir was gone just as quickly as he had come and Celeborn sat there until noon. It felt strange to be awake during the day.

He looked up at the sun, shining bright overhead, and Finrod's words echoed in his mind for a moment. _You do know you're not supposed to look directly at it, don't you Celeborn? _The thought of his one time friend nearly brought a smile to his face. It was so bright. He remembered the girl with hair woven of sunlight and, for the first time, it was not apathy or anger that filled his heart, but a hollow sadness. With each passing year the memory of her grew fainter. He had almost forgotten her face and yet he dreaded that the next place Thingol would send him would be Nargothrond. He was afraid of what he might find there, and he did not know why. He pushed the thoughts from his mind with some difficulty but it would not do any good for him to dwell on them, not when he could not even understand his own thoughts.

He dropped to the ground, informing his sentinels that he was going for a brief time and ordering them not to follow. They were worried and expressed their concerns but they obeyed him nonetheless. He made sure that it was so, stopping periodically to see if they were following; they weren't. As the sun blazed high in the sky, he drew closer to the designated place and Amdir dropped from the branches.

Time had changed him. Whatever part of him had been Sindarin seemed to have been completely forgotten. He wore his dark hair closely cropped with the sides shaved so that the only hair on his head was a strip running from his brow to the nape of his neck. His skin was darkly tanned by the sun and he wore no clothing save for a pair of deerskin breeches and short deerskin boots but his ears had been pierced many times over, all the way up to the tips, and polished bits of wood had been inserted in the holes. His bow and quiver were strung over his bare back and he stared at Celeborn with unflinching yellow eyes as the Sinda approached. Several of his followers stepped out from behind the pine and one of them made to bind Celeborn's eyes with a black cloth but Amdir held out a hand, stopping him.

"It would do no good to bind this one. He knows the forest well and does not need his eyes to see," the chieftain said in his tribe's tongue. As with most of the tribes it was a variation on a common Avarin language that Celeborn understood and it was not difficult for him to discern its meaning. "Come." Amdir and his people turned and began to walk through the forest and Celeborn followed. They all wore their hair in a similar style and their backs were thickly muscled, crossed by a network of scars, the price of living outside the girdle; it was a hard life.

They walked for some time, at last approaching what appeared to be a small settlement. There were five tent-like structures there composed of wooden poles over which tanned deer hides had been stretched. The people came out to stare at him, the males dressed in much the same manner as Amdir himself while the women wore short deerskin skirts elaborately embroidered with beads, their breasts uncovered. There were several elflings and these ran about completely naked.

"Let us speak in my tent," Amdir said, pushing aside the flap. They entered and Celeborn saw that there was a dark haired female there, her black hair hanging in a long braid down her back, and a young elfling, no more than three, who stared at him with wide, curious eyes. "My wife, Hwin, and my son, Amroth," Amdir said, placing his hand on the child's head. The boy approached Celeborn, standing toe to toe with the Sinda and staring up at him, arms reaching up. The Sindarin prince bent down and the child grabbed a lock of his silver hair, playing with it while speaking in the Avari tongue.

"The tale I have come to tell is not a happy one. Perhaps it would be best if your son did not hear it." Celeborn said but Amdir waved his hand dismissively.

"He may be young but he has already shed his first blood, a hare. We do not shield our children from unpleasant matters here. It is good for him to hear these things."

"Hwin," he turned to his wife but she merely glared at Celeborn before saying something to her husband in a deep guttural language and exiting the tent. "She is from another tribe, an older tribe. They have no love for your people or your king. Sit," Amdir said and they seated themselves upon the ground while the child played nearby.

"I will not pretend that I am happy to see you for I am not," Amdir spoke now in the tongue of his tribe. "Our only wish is that you Sindar would leave us alone yet you seem incapable of that."

"Then I will not bother with pleasantries," Celeborn said as Amdir packed a pipe full of pipeweed and lit it, taking a long pull from it. He blew the smoke out, watching it rise through the air.

"You have had dealings with the Noldor," Amdir said, passing the pipe to Celeborn, who took a long draw from it.

"With Finrod and Artanis, two of Finarfin's children. The rest have been forbidden entrance to Doriath."

"Why? Have you forgotten how we fought in segregated armies at the Battle of Beleriand, segregated at the command of your king? How are you Sindar any different than them?"

"Things are not that way anymore," Celeborn said. "And that was your legacy. There are many green elves among our ranks, who have chosen to make their homes in Menegroth, and by Thingol's order they mix freely with the Sindar in all matters." Amdir said nothing, but his eyes bore witness to his skepticism.

"Have you forgotten what I did for you?" Celeborn asked. "Thingol would not speak to me for years. My cousin Oropher almost died rescuing you. I almost died. I endangered the lives of my soldiers."

"And you won the battle," Amdir interjected. "Winning requires risk. That is what war is, a king risking the lives of his people, hoping that it pays off. You played your hand and you won. Why should you be upset about it? Thingol created you in his image."

"The Noldor slander me for it but it is only because I know what being a king costs that I do not wish to be one," Celeborn said. "The guilt of what I have done consumes me," His voice filled with anger, his eyes flashing. Amdir respected anger. He sat, observing the silver haired prince.

"I know what you sacrificed," Amdir said, "and I respect it." They were silent for a few moments before the Avari continued.

"You should come live amongst us Celeborn. You would do well as one of us. I saw your frustration all those years ago. They never listened to you either, always jostling for their own personal gain, so eager to step on anyone to get to the top, and I was the lowest of them all, the most expendable, simply because of my Avarin blood. Don't you ever get sick of it all? With wisdom like yours you could be a chieftain, yet you are always relegated when they can form a majority against you. Can you tell me now that things are better, that they still do not conspire against you? They care not for wisdom. Even Thingol allows his passions to rule over his head."

"I am more cunning than they and I have learned to manipulate them well. It is not often nowadays that the cards do not fall as I mean them to," Celeborn said. It was only a half truth. His worries about Saeros and the matter of the logging at Hithrim clouded his mind.

"In other words you have become one of them."

"I do not act on my own behalf but for the good of Doriath and her people."

"Their good, as you judge it."

"Have you not just said that you trust my judgment?"

"I suppose I did," Amdir smiled at last but it was not a true smile. "Yet word has reached me that you have taken one of these Noldo, this Artanis as you called her, into your bed."

"Things between she and I have been finished for many decades now," Celeborn replied dismissively.

"It will be better for you. If there is anything worse than your people it is most certainly the Noldor."

"You are a hypocrite Amdir. You want equality amongst Sindar and Green Elves and Avari yet you are all too willing to place divisions between our people and the Noldor," Celeborn said as Amdir passed the pipe back to him.

"You can call it what you like Celeborn, call it hypocrisy, but I gave up on ideals a long time ago and it would behoove you to do the same. Use them when they are useful and discard them when it will benefit you to do so. It is the only way to survive. Thingol taught me that lesson by example, when he left me to die on a battlefield, and I learned it well. Long did I wait, trusting in the King's word while my wardens were slaughtered around me and in the end he betrayed me. If I had had the courage to act on my own as I do now then I might have found another way out before so many of my soldiers sacrificed their lives for me. You can speak of honor but first I would ask you walk the field of Amon Ereb and ask those who fell in the battle what good honor did them." They sat in silence and Celeborn passed the pipe back to Amdir.

"I am sick of this, for I have spoken of it many times and I do not wish to speak of it anymore," Amdir said, sounding suddenly frustrated. "Let us speak of other things. Why have you come here? It had better not be because your lot is going to war again."

"No, we are not. I have brought you a warning, for we have received the worst sort of news and Thingol wished you to know and to spread the word to the others." Then he told Amdir the entire tale: of how the Noldor had first come to Menegroth, of all that had occurred while they were there, of how they had finally come to know of the Silmarils and, at last, how Artanis had told them of the kinslaying." When he had heard the entire tale Amdir sat in silence, his jaw clenched and darkness in his eyes. It was a long while before he spoke and the pipe lay at his side, forgotten, cold.

"Only when the last tree has died and the last river has been poisoned and the last fish been caught will they realize they cannot eat jewels," Amdir said at last. "I never could have expected this. It is very dark news indeed, worse than anything I could have imagined. Something tells me this is the beginning of the end." His yellow eyes met Celeborn's, confirming that the same thought lurked at the back of the Sinda's mind.

"I cannot leave Menegroth but you could go, all of you, taking your people east over the mountains. They have kin there who would provide you refuge." Celeborn said but Amdir laughed at the prince's words.

"Take them east? This is their home and they would sooner die than leave these forests. I am their chief, not their king. It is they who make the decisions, not I. I am merely the guide. And will you stay in Menegroth even in the event that Doriath comes to stand between them and their oath?"

"I will remain where I belong, in Doriath," Celeborn replied simply.

"And so we have made the same choice," Amdir said.

* * *

><p>She already knew it was he, she had been summoned after all, but her heart seemed to quell with each step that she took across the cold and unforgiving marble towards the door, for as much as she wished, as much as she dreamed in all of her dreams that he would take her into his arms and kiss her and call her his Galadriel once more, she knew that she could not expect such a happy reception and, more than that, that she did not deserve one. And for all of the courage and confidence that she had spoken to Finrod with regarding Celeborn, faced with the prince himself now she found both courage and confidence to be swiftly fading.<p>

She had thought to pause and recoup herself before the door for a few moments but no, it wouldn't do; he would have heard her coming and he would know that she dallied. Grasping the golden handle she pulled and her heart dropped to her feet the second she entered the room for there he was. There was Celeborn. And, as much as she had wished to see him again, had longed for that moment and feared it would never come, so had she dreaded it with her entire being, feared seeing derision and anger in eyes where she had once seen love, the pained expression of one whom she had wronged in the worst and most intimate way, or, worst of all, nothing. And so she could not bring herself to look at him directly but cast her eyes to the floor. This was to be no lovers meeting.

He stood from his seat at the table as was proper upon the entrance of a lady and she saw that he had indeed come on official business, not personal, for he was dressed in the garb of an emissary, fine clothes the like of which he had only worn on the most somber of occasions. Over his shoulders was a gray cape, the collar of which was lined with white wolf's fur and clasped with a green enamel brooch in the shape of a leaf. His star-bright hair cascaded over his shoulders like a stream of pure silver and upon his brow was the crown of the prince of Doriath. Its dangling accouterments jingled as he seated himself once more.

He had chosen his clothing carefully she knew, and the point had been made: she was a subject before a foreign prince, the lord of a sovereign nation, and she bowed carefully, eyes downcast, before seating herself opposite him. She dared not meet his gaze, both afraid of what she might find there and conscious of her own weakness, already moisture had gathered in her eyes and she tried to will it away, concentrating on the table that sat between them rather than his face, even as her heart leapt about like a rabbit in her chest. Her shoulders were shaking. She had meant to be brave, calm, collected, but she had not expected it to be this difficult and she found that all she wanted to do was shout at him in anger and pain.

The table at which they sat was not a very large table but it was stacked with parchment, and quills, and ink. He had come for information then. She traced the engraved vines on the edge of the table with a finger, needing something to occupy the long silence, but it seemed inappropriate and so she abandoned the self appointed task, clasping her hands in her lap instead, finding that they were trembling, clutching the lock of hair she held.

"Lady Artanis, I have come seeking information per the request of Thingol, King of Doriath, High King of Beleriand, and Lord of the Sindar." He spoke without looking up. It was a voice she had not heard in so very long and the sound of it rattled her soul. "I submit for your perusal the subpoena, sealed by the king himself, ordering your testimony as to the characters of the persons listed therein. Please remember that you swear your testimony to be the whole and entire truth to the best of your knowledge and that, if it is found that your testimony is false in part or in whole that you will be subject to punishment in accordance with the laws of Doriath," he pushed the document across the table at her and she looked at it, numb.

Their hands were separated by the span of a mere inch yet an inch could be miles depending upon the map used to read it and though she felt the warmth of him so very near to her, she knew that his heart was many leagues away, or at least he acted as though it were. But beneath his collected demeanor she sensed some inner turmoil and her heart began to burn with fury. Was this how it was to be? Where has his straightforwardness, where had his honesty gone? There were so many things that had been left unsaid between them but it seemed that he would rather feign he had never known her. They were both acting, and neither one of them was particularly adept at it.

"Have you read and understood this document?" He asked her. For all of his coldness it was as though they had never even met before yet she remembered every night that she had spent in his bed, in his embrace; she remembered the warmth of him, every line of him, the touch of his lips upon her skin.

"I have," she replied tersely, placing it back upon the table and returned her hands to her lap, clenching them there. He removed the cork from the inkpot and dipped a long quill in, blotting it before poising his hand. It would be more usual for a scribe to take dictation but he meant to do it himself. She remembered that he had told her he did that to concentrate when his heart was troubled and yet she suspected that his reasons now ran even deeper than that: that he wished for privacy. And she found she was very glad indeed that they were in private, for there were many things she wished to say to him and she was determined to speak her mind.

"Shall we begin?" He asked.

"If it is information that you desire then would it not profit you more, my lord, to speak to Finrod Felagund? He is the lord of Nargothrond, not I," she said, pointedly, but it provoked no reaction from him.

"I have already had words with Felagund," he said. "Thingol wishes to know what lies in their hearts. Looking into others' minds is your realm of expertise is it not?" He said, still not looking at her though she had at last gathered the courage to raise her eyes to him, incensed by his answer, and tears sprang to her eyes now, all regard for comportment gone. How dare he sit there and pretend that this was nothing, that he cared not at all?

"You once called that a gift! You swore to stand by my side in my troubles and now you will use them, use me as a weapon?" She asked him. He looked up then, his eyes lingering briefly upon the Elessar, and she wondered if he had not noticed it before and if that was because he had not looked at her since she had entered, just as she had avoided looking at him. He raised his eyes to meet hers then, and his were cold, though not devoid of emotion, an emotion she did not understand.

"You have been ordered to comply by Thingol himself for the protection of Doriath," he said, his voice dangerous. "If you do not wish to comply then I will be left with no choice but to put you under arrest."

"At least if you arrest me you shall have to take me back to Menegroth," she spat, "even if it is in shackles."

"Menegroth – where you are hated, despised, loathed, where your name is the foulest of curses!" He shouted and his words, the release of what he had been holding back, shocked her into silence. He seemed to recover from his brief outburst of anger then but she could tell that there was much he wished to say that remained unsaid, angry bitter words, and he could no longer pretend that he was not uneasy. "We were under the impression that you wished to work against the Feanorians," he said instead, but she could tell that his anger was seething just beneath the surface.

"I do," she replied, calming herself again though her own anger simmered at the back of her mind. There were many things that remained unsaid, things that ought to have been said long ago, but had now festered like open sores for the better part of a century. "I will comply." And she would, for now, but not forever.

"Very well," he wiped away a spot where the ink had dripped. "Let us begin. What do you know of Maedhros Feanorian?"

She told him the entire tale then, testifying to the character of each of her cousins, being careful to spare no detail. She spoke of the terrible oath of Feanor, of Maedhros's sense of duty as the firstborn that had driven him to be the first to swear to it. She spoke of Maglor, the kindest of her cousins who, though he regretted the kinslaying with all of his heart would still not turn from the oath he had sworn, and of Celegorm and Curufin who were never seen one without the other, telling of the strange illness that had invaded their minds, darkening them and causing them to dwell upon perverse thoughts that did not commonly enter the minds of the eldar. She told him of Caranthir as well, the quickest to anger and the last to forgive. Lastly she told him the sad tale of Amrod and of his twin Amras, killed by his own father. And though she hoped that the information she was providing would be useful to Thingol, the greater part of her heart was given over to sadness, for well did she remember her cousins in their youth, the promise that each of them had shown, the opportunities they might have had with their lives, but now it was as if those people she had once known were now strangers to her.

"Maedhros and Maglor are reasonable. But these three: Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir, they are the most dangerous of Feanor's sons," she cautioned him, "and you would do well to avoid them altogether. For their minds have been warped by evil and they kill because they have come to enjoy it, because it pleases them. If it is protection that you seek then you should watch these three with particular caution and you should instruct Thingol to do the same and to trust nothing you might hear from them." Her words trailed off into silence and Celeborn seemed to be pondering whether or not to speak.

"Celegorm, and especially Curufin, I have already seen with my own eyes," he said then, almost as though he were confiding in her, as though what he had seen of her cousins had shaken him to his core. "What you have told me coincides with what I observed myself." His words confirmed the rumors that she had heard and she felt her anger dissipate as quickly as mist.

"You should not have gone there," she said then, the words falling from her lips as though she were powerless to stop them, her heart trembling in fear, concern overwhelming her pride, "for they love nothing more than to kill." The image of silver Telerin scalps hanging from her cousins' belts was still fresh in her mind. "Indeed, I have already heard tell of your visit there and my heart was greatly troubled by it for I fear for you, and for Luthien also, for those three do not easily forget a slight, whether real or presumed, and I am certain that you have not seen the last of Curufin. At worst they will seek you out and at the least they will cause you trouble whenever the opportunity presents itself." Then, for the first time in the many hours that they had been speaking, did she see Celeborn show any sign of misgiving for he had not expected her to know that he had been there and it had shaken his collected façade if only a little. And she wondered at what Curufin must have done to disturb Celeborn so.

"Who told you this?" He asked her, his eyes flashing, sensing that something yet was unspoken. It was then that she unclenched her shaking fist to reveal a lock of silver hair stained with blood, his own, a part of what Curufin had taken those years ago.

"Curufin…" he said, his voice a whisper.

"Valar," she gasped, her voice sounding as though it was about to break. "You do not know how I feared for you, how foolish it was for you to go to Nargothrond!" But the sight of that lock of hair, the sight of red and silver, dredged up angry memories long suppressed and feelings that were confusing to Celeborn, perplexing beyond his ability to understand them.

"Who told you?" He asked again, angrier this time, the anger supplanting those old memories, providing him a means of escape from them.

"Celebrimbor, son of Curufin," she replied, casting her eyes down once more, for she did not wish to speak of him. "He is here and heard by letter from his father. But I had a letter from Curufin as well, and I knew the lock of hair it contained to be yours. I feared for your life. You do not know, Celeborn, how terrified I was for your life."

"You have continued to associate with the Feanorians," he said. "And here I thought that was one of Curufin's lies. If that is true then how much truth was in what else he said? Look at me!" He commanded, angrily and she complied, watching the flush of anger spread across his face.

"Celebrimbor came uninvited," she replied, meeting his gaze with firm eyes. "But he is not like the rest of them. Never did he raise his sword to slay his kin. Never have his words leant credence to the deeds of his father or his uncles. Indeed, he speaks out against them and condemns their wicked deeds." Celeborn was intensely interested now, his eyes boring into hers, seeking answers for what he suspected, for the questions that remained unspoken. The silence stretched between them as taut as a tripwire.

"Is it true that he came to court you?" Celeborn whispered at last, not a shy whisper, but the sort that came from a throat so dry that the speaker could hardly speak; the question that needed asking, the question that she did not wish to answer.

"It is. And what should it matter to you?" It was a cruel question to ask and his jaw tightened in response. She pressed her sweaty palms flat against the table, meeting his gaze with fire of her own, and she feared her own anger: that she would lash out and say how she had confided in him that she had a terrible secret, that knowing this he had still made pledges to her that he no longer kept, that he had betrayed her as well. And yet, she could hardly blame him for having broken them. She wanted so badly to remain cool, to remain calm, but she was quickly losing her control.

He stood, walking around the table and she gasped as she felt his hand against her chest, lifting the Elessar, turning it back and forth in the light. The touch startled her and she looked up, meeting his eyes. "Did he give you this?" He asked, his voice deep, thick with emotion.

"Yes," she replied, feeling as though her heart had skipped a beat. Celeborn's hand tightened around the stone, enclosing it within his fist, and she half wondered if he meant to tear it away.

"You have agreed to marry him…" Celeborn said.

"Do not put words in my mouth," she commanded with fire of her own. "I have done no such thing!"

"Then why do you wear his jewel?" Celeborn cried, and the anger was written clearly upon his face now. "This is a marriage custom among your people is it not?" He released the Elessar as if it had burned him. "Have you forgotten me so quickly, so easily?"

"And why should you care?" She cried again, meeting fire with fire and she flew up from her seat, slamming her hands upon the table. "You stopped loving me ere I said anything of the secret! You tried to bind yourself to me though you loved me not! I have not forgotten the tears you shed as you lay in my arms! Do you think that that did not tear my heart into shreds! And what of all of the promises you made me? What of your promises to help me, to always listen to my council, to love me? I told you that you would not love me if you knew who I truly was and you swore that was not true! You once wanted to marry me, Celeborn! Have you forgotten?"

"I have forgotten nothing of the promises I made you while I was yet deceived!" Celeborn shouted back, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "But I did not think you were a murderer, a traitor! And what of the promise of our future together? What of our dreams? I wanted to marry you! Did you think I was not serious? Did you think it was just a dalliance for me? Why did you ever agree to courtship if in secret you planned for my destruction? Was it because you never loved me? I thought you would be the mother of my children! I dreamed of building a home with you! And you ripped all of that away from me because of your own selfishness, because you cared more for your own security than for my dreams, our dreams! I was slandered in my own court for my associations with you but still I defended you, I believed in you, I loved you!"

"But you loved Doriath more!" She shrieked, angry tears bubbling in her eyes.

"How typical of you, Artanis! You can never be second in anyone's affections can you? Yet you will place everyone else second to your greatest love: yourself. Even now you string poor Celebrimbor along because you cannot bear for him, for anyone to look at you with distaste!" The tears nearly spilled from her eyes, for his words stung with the worst sting of all: truth. Trust Celeborn to be so brutally honest; Celebrimbor would never have dared to tell her the naked truth, though she suspected he had thought it before.

"I love Doriath more than you and I love this earth more than you and I always have and I always will! I am not one of you _Calaquendi_! Do not expect me to act like one! If you loved me, if you truly loved me, then you would know that and you would accept it, you would have accepted it a long time ago! I am a _Moriquendi_, Artanis, and that is what it means to love a _Moriquendi_! It means taking second place! It is a hard truth, I know, but I will not deceive you, even if you have deceived me!"

"Do not use that word!" She cried, incensed. "It is foul and I will not hear it!"

"Won't you?" He cried. "The rest of your people seem to have no problem with it. Indeed, Curufin insists upon using it. Is that not the company you keep nowadays? Go to Celebrimbor then, and tell him some twisted version of the truth as you always do to your suitors. I am sure that he will comfort you with the words of a man deceived, as I once did, but now I will speak the truth or I will not speak at all."

"You want to know why I wear his jewel?" She cried, brandishing the Elessar, her eyes full of tears. "Do you want to accuse me of having forgotten you so easily and quickly? You do not know your own power, Celeborn. I wear this because it reminds me of your eyes! Yes, he is good, and kind, and noble, and handsome and yes, very probably I could marry him and be happy, but not while you yet live. For beside my love for you, the affection I bear him is as hollow as chaff after a harvest, so easily lifted and dispersed by the breeze, gone as quickly as the seasons. But my love for you is as the eternal rocks beneath this earth, neither great, nor splendid, nor beautiful, but necessary, more necessary to me than the air I breathe. For with you I saw some glimpse of a greater world and I would move heaven and earth itself to see it for but a moment more."

Her words conjured the memory of the night when they had first kissed and she did not doubt that, at that moment, he recalled it too. There was a flash in his eyes, some darkness there that she had not seen before and suddenly he seemed to snap; screaming in rage he grabbed the clay inkpot and threw it with all of his might against the wall where it exploded, painting the stone with a fresh bloom of black ink that dripped and ran to the floor like blood from a wound.

His shoulders shook and he turned towards her, looking for all the world like a man haunted by anger and torment. "I do not know," he said, his words a strangled whisper, "if what I feel for you could be called love for it dwells so near to hatred, like twin brothers at their mother's breast," his voice lapsed into silence until all she could hear was the faint drumming of her frightened heart within her chest.

"Celeborn…" she whispered, half fearful as he turned towards her, fists and shoulders trembling, his eyes unreadable yet troubled, as though a hurricane churned in the depths of him. He strode towards her and she stepped back, feeling the edge of the table connect with her legs, and the next thing she knew he had gripped her arms, painfully tight, pressing her back hard against the table. He had never been gentle but he was even less so now and the fierce look in his eyes startled her at the same time as it appealed to her more basic nature as well, as ever it had. She understood his words now, for she too knew not whether she wanted to kill him or make love to him.

He grabbed her hips, pushing her up onto the table as she watched his eyes, both of them breathing hard, feeling his hands beneath her skirt, forcing it up, pulling her tight to him. He seemed to struggle, as though he wished to speak but could not bring himself to say the words and she could feel his hands trembling where they gripped her skin tightly while she wrapped her hands in his silver hair, pulling hard. The intensity of his eyes bore into her own as the minutes passed while words did not. Only the sound of their labored breathing filled the air and she wondered if he meant to take her then and there, knowing that she would not stop him, did not want to stop him.

"Valar," she breathed, "you are more myself than I am." His mouth came down on hers, hard, and she kissed him back with equal fervor as each of them pulled the other desperately against them, as if they could become so close that they would become one. It was as if fire coursed through her, as if she were alight with burning energy, fueled so fully that she could take on anyone: her brothers, her cousins, or Thingol, or Mandos, even Morgoth himself. That power, raw and aching, moved through her, filled her, made her tremble. When Celeborn kissed her she feared nothing. And for all the beauty of Celebrimbor's Elessar, for all its magic, it had not that power.

But he seemed to regain some control over himself, pulling away, trembling, agitated, still angry, and she could already feel the soreness in her hips where he had gripped them. There would be bruises in the morning to remember him by. "No…" he stammered, "no…I don't want this." He backed away, as if she were a snake that had just bitten him. And then, putting his emotions away he said, "my apologies." He turned away from her for a moment, "that was a most indecent thing to do. I hope I haven't pained you."

The silence persisted for a few minutes, both of them shaken, before either of them managed to muster words, and it was Celeborn who managed it first. "What is the price that you would ask of me Artanis?" He asked, turning back to her with those dark, accusing eyes. If judgment was an art then Celeborn had perfected it. Slowly, for her hips already hurt where he had gripped her, she slid off of the table, pulling her skirt back down, her heart still pounding within her chest.

"Freedom," she said coldly, though his heat remained imprinted upon her body, seared into her skin where his hands had grasped her shoulders, her thighs, "I have known so many cages: Aman, here, Menegroth. I would be caged no longer."

And Celeborn merely shook his head, the anger gone now and, instead, it seemed that her answer had made him very sad. "I cannot free you from yourself…or your choices," he said, his voice falling.

Turning his eyes from her, he picked up the papers that he had cast to the floor, rolling them up and binding them. She watched him intently, torn. She half wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg for forgiveness. That was all it would take; he had only just now been a mere breath away from confessing that he still loved her too. But she had defended the Teleri after all, and why should he cite her killing of the Feanorians as murder when they had been in the wrong, why should he continue to levy that blame upon her? But he had just rejected her yet again and she had not the courage to endure further rejection. Fear and hope warred in her mind.

And Celeborn glanced at her again, one last time, as if he were waiting, but momentarily he turned, strode to the door and paused with his hand upon the handle. Even now she could stop him, run after him, tell him again that she loved him with all her heart, with all her mind, that she would admit to having done wrong, that she would accept any punishment for his sake, that she was willing to fight for him, for Doriath, that second place was good enough for her.

"Goodbye Galadriel," he said. The door clicked shut behind him and he was gone.

"Goodbye Celeborn," she said into the silence.

* * *

><p>"Celebrimbor, I presume," the voice was as cool as water but deep as the ocean itself and Celebrimbor nearly jumped out of his own skin at the shock for he had presumed himself alone and knew not when someone else might have entered the smithy without his knowing, nor how long they had been there.<p>

"And who are you?" He said, looking up from the gemstone he was working on, for he had not recognized the voice. What he saw was a shock indeed, something he had not seen the like of since Alqualonde and nay, not even there.

Sitting there on the stool upon which Artanis customarily sat was a very large elf, taller than Celebrimbor certainly, though he was, perhaps, no stronger than the smith. But it was not his height or his strength that most caught Celebrimbor's eye, it was that hair, pure silver long and straight, like a river of moonlight that spilled over the elf's shoulders both in front and in back. His face was extraordinarily handsome, his skin of a dusky hue, and his eyes, Celebrimbor noted with a sinking feeling as if he would grow sick, were the color of evergreens or of summer leaves, the color of the Elessar, but there was no light in them; this was surely a Sinda, and of the royal house no less, for who else had hair like _that_.

Yet by his exquisite manner of dress he might have been a Telerin prince of Aman, for his clothes were the finest that Celebrimbor had yet seen an elf of Middle Earth wear and he was attired all in the colors of ice. He wore a long robe of heavy silver silk patterned with herons in flight that were embroidered in white thread. The robe crossed over his chest, secured by a wide belt of watered silk with the color and rich hue of a sapphire which was, in turn, secured by a thin rope of silver that ran over it and was fastened in the center by a silver broach bearing the crest of Thingol. The robe itself seemed to have many collars in various shades of grey and blue that were layered beneath its outer collar, each revealing a glimpse of color at the elf's throat. His boots were of glossy black leather with silver toes and his voluminous cape was of a very heavy navy blue velvet lined with an equally dark blue silk, the pelt of a white and grey wolf making up the collar. On his finger was the signet ring of Thingol, glimmering in the light of the forge, and upon his brow was a crown, simple yet elegant.

He was astonishingly beautiful and yet, though he had not been marked by the light of Aman, it could not be said that this world had not left his mark on him, for his entire form and figure seemed to make manifest a bleak and savage desolation. He appeared as a waterfall in a winter gorge, stunning, and cold, and remote. Celebrimbor felt as though his throat were dry and swallowed, having forgotten entirely what he had been doing, or even what he had said.

"You know who I am," the elf said quietly with not even a glimmer of doubt that his words were true. And indeed it was so, for though Celebrimbor had never laid eyes on Celeborn of Doriath, the High Prince of Beleriand, he knew with absolute certainty that he was the elf before him now. And Celebrimbor wanted so very much to rise up in anger against this cool, calm, elf, to shatter that confident and collected visage as if it were nothing more than fragile glass, to force him to divulge each and every sordid detail of his torrid affair with Artanis only so that he could know her fully and there would be nothing, nothing that she could keep secret from him anymore. But Celeborn used space and silence in the way that most people used swords, standing now, so that Celebrimbor's angry words died upon his lips ere ever they were born as his heart clouded over with fear. He had heard that the Sindarin nobles were the tallest of all elves, and the stature of this elf seemed to attest to that. Silver tree: he was aptly named.

The Sinda began to pace with slow, deliberate steps, the path around Celebrimbor's workbench, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes studying the floor as if there was nothing that interested him more, that silver mane of his flowing over his broad shoulders to the small of his back like a stream of stars. And Celebrimbor, who despised silence and the creeping discomfort it brought, frantically tried to think of some pleasantry, to ask the prince how he found Nargothrond, or on what errand he had come, or why he had deigned to pay him a visit, anything to break the silence. But just as he had formed both the words and the courage to say them, Celeborn stopped, looking up sharply to meet his eyes, barely a foot away, and how he had gotten so close without his realizing it Celebrimbor did not know.

"Did you think that you could purchase her?" He asked quietly, his face devoid of emotion, and the question was at once so very offensive and so very true that Celebrimbor quelled before the simple power of its implications. Who was this elf to ask such a thing? Finwe himself would never have been that bold! Celebrimbor's mind revolted against the arrogance of this dark elf, his anger beating impotently at the bars of his mind.

For he had been convinced, or perhaps he had hoped, that Artanis had fallen into folly, that she had given herself over to whims and had her senses addled, that this dark elf lover of hers, if ever he were to meet him, would be some crude and rustic wood elf, an inferior man hardly fit to be called a prince: destitute, simple, ignorant, common. He had thought that he would be the sort of man she would dally with for the mere novelty of it and later discard. He had believed that she had been mislead, thus, he had believed that he could lead her instead, but now that he had met Celeborn, he found that the very foundation upon which he had built his hopes had been inexorably crushed beneath this elf's silver toed boot, for an elf such as this, who wielded power so deftly, could have commanded the attention of kings, even if he were to walk the avenues of Valinor. He was no plaything, no exotic lover to be easily cast aside.

This angered the son of Curufin, who was not even first among the smiths of Gondolin, and, though his fear was great, his anger grew greater still, and he spoke, saying; "there are those who would call it a kindness, seeing as none other will wish to wed what you have tainted."

And in that moment he was his father's son; he had hoped to break the cool confidence of this Sinda, to exacerbate his emotions, if he had any, yet the silver-haired elf paid no heed to Celebrimbor's bait and said instead, "is it her association with me that taints her?" It was such a simple question, and yet Celebrimbor realized it for the master stroke that it was, for in those few unassuming words Celeborn had not only cut his argument down to a stump, he had uprooted it entirely. To argue against what he had just said would be tantamount to condoning the kinslaying.

Though Celebrimbor had never held with nor approved of the actions of his father and his father's brothers, he felt his hand twitching, as though it wanted to take up the dagger that was clasped to his waist and plunge it deep into that Sindarin prince's unfeeling heart if only to see the shock on his face, or the surprise in his eyes, or, at the very least, the dimming of his fea fleeing his body if only so that he might prove that he, Celebrimbor Curufinian had some modicum of control over this dark elf. No other elf had ever inspired such hateful or evil thoughts in him.

Their positions ought to be reversed, he thought with spite, for he, Celebrimbor Curufinian, had been born in Aman, born under the light of the trees, blessed and christened by the Valar themselves. And this…this Celeborn Galadhonian, his name was unknown to the Valar, he had been born into darkness and shadow, would have been an elf full grown ere he ever knew what light was, or experienced the coming of day.

"She owes you nothing," he said.

"No," Celeborn said calmly, "she owes me nothing, just as she owes you nothing." Celebrimbor felt hot tears of anger rise to his eyes even as his hands trembled, for it was one thing to know he had been defeated, and defeated so easily, but it was another thing to have his defeat made clear and verbalized, to have his hopes and dreams snatched away so handily.

"For what purpose have you come here then, to me?" Celebrimbor fumed. "To gloat?"

"Over what?" Celeborn said, raising an eyebrow. "I too have lost her. No, I came only because I heard you were here and I wished to see the son of Curufin for myself. I wished to know you."

"It is only because you will not have her that you have lost her. If you desire her then take her!" Celebrimbor cried, admitting his loss. "What jewels, what gifts of mine could ever win her heart, much less keep it? For such is the madness of her love that she would surely follow you, even unto Mandos's halls themselves. There is not a man alive who could stop her! And all will know that the great Nerwen has at last been tamed by the ungentle hand of a Sindarin barbarian!" But even this had not provoked a reaction from Celeborn and the silver elf silently settled himself upon the stool once more.

"She is not mine to take or leave at my desire," Celeborn said simply and, to Celebrimbor's discontent, he smiled. "Nor anyone's. That is her choice." And having so said, he stood, tapping his fingertips upon the table briefly and then turned, slowly making his way down the corridor, and then he was gone.

* * *

><p>"He came to Himlad you know, your Silver Tree," Celebrimbor said, breaking the long silence that had lain between them as each kept busy about their tasks: he was forging a sword, she – as usual, sitting on a stool by the side of his forge, her legs crossed at the ankles, firelight flickering on her hair, lost in her thoughts.<p>

"Yes," she said, coming to as if she had dozed off, "I know. You are the one who told me, or have you forgotten?"

"Oh," the silence fell once more and Celebrimbor examined the blade carefully. He hissed softly, displeased with his work, for it was fine – that he knew, but it was hardly perfect and here and there the angle of the edge was not entirely uniform, though all but the most experienced of swordsmiths would not have been able to recognize _that._ Doubtless, it would keep its edge…though not as well as it _could have _had he made it without blemish. The Noldo grit his teeth, growing frustrated.

"It is very fine," Artanis said, "fit for Fingolfin himself, truly."

"Father didn't like him," he said curtly, finding that he had grown somewhat agitated at her words. It didn't matter that she may very well have meant what she said, the sword was imperfect, he knew it, and any comment other than that was false in his mind.

"What?" She asked, confused now. Celebrimbor turned the sword and slammed his hammer down, more to vent his frustration than anything else, for the metal of it had long cooled from its malleable state.

"That Sinda of yours," he said, looking up at her and wiping the sweat from his face. He put the sword down and tightened the strip of cloth with which he had tied back his long dark hair. "Father didn't like him. He didn't like him at all."

"I wouldn't have expected him to," Artanis said with a shrug, seeming unfazed, and this irked Celebrimbor even more, possibly, than his disobedient sword. She seemed to have changed since her Silver Tree had visited, as if she had expelled her anger at last and become far more contemplative in turn. Celebrimbor did not like when she was silent, he did not like the thought of her having ideas to which he was not privy, most especially when he suspected that those thoughts might concern _him,_ that _Celeborn_.

"Well it isn't good for anyone when father is upset," he told her instead, examining the sword once more.

"Given our earlier conversations," she said, "I would have thought that you might find Curufin's displeasure to be proof of someone's merit." But her words fell on deaf ears, for in his growing desperation Celebrimbor had little use for words that he could not make fit his purpose, just as he had no use for this sword that would not mind his hammer.

"What did he tell you?" He asked her and she shrugged.

"Little, really. He did not say much of what passed at Himlad. I heard that he paid you a visit as well while he was here."

"That Sinda?" Celebrimbor asked.

"He has a name you know," Artanis replied, twisting her gown between her fingers as she met his gaze with perturbed eyes. Something about it engendered a sense of accomplishment in Celebrimbor, for her mood had changed and he had made her do it.

"Walking about like he is a prince –"

"He _is_ a prince Celebrimbor," she interrupted him, "and a much higher one than you."

"What does it matter?" Celebrimbor asked. "From what I have heard he seems content to be a prince all his life and harbors no further ambitions, or so Celegorm said."

"He loves Thingol dearly, as a father, and would serve no other," she replied.

"Well I would be a King," Celebrimbor said. "And I will, one day." It was a reminder to her, a reminder that they shared the same dream, a dream that this Celeborn did not share.

"What is good for some is not good for others," she replied.

"He is a forester," Celebrimbor continued curtly, "a backwoods foundling with all of the arrogance of a prince of Aman who had the audacity to demand that he be treated the same as if he _were_ a prince of Aman." It was not what he really thought of course, but it was what he had wanted to think. The fact that, when he had actually met this Celeborn, Thingol's protégé, he had looked so very regal after all, like such a proper king despite the fact that he was a dark elf, had made Celebrimbor very cross for it had not been so easy to discount the Sinda as he had planned on. He doubted not that his father had thought the same thing. And he had thought to make Artanis grim with what he had just said and thereby evaporate her insolence of a moment earlier as if it were nothing more than water dashed upon a hot stove but he was quite put out to see that, instead, it seemed to cause her despondence to lift; her face was lit with a radiant smile and, wonder of wonders, she laughed.

"His arrogance…his temper," she laughed. "I had worried," she said with a smile, "that I had broken his spirit somewhat, but I have found that he remains himself. I underestimated him."

That smile, that laugh, after he had first given her the Elessar he had thought, for a few joyful years, that she smiled on his account, but now he knew that it was not meant for himself, though he was the one at her side, but that it was meant for _him – _for this Celeborn whom he hated with an ardent passion the likes of which he had never known. And he almost wished that Telperion lived again just so he could hack away at his trunk. But he felt near immediate regret at having thought such a horrid and blasphemous thing and consoled himself instead by remembering that it was his jewel, after all, and not the Sindarin prince's ring that Artanis wore, his kiss and not Celeborn's that had most recently graced her lips. He glanced up to see the green jewel hanging in the cleft between the gentle swell of her breasts. Yes…there was still hope. She had taken his gift, after all, a gift of courtship, and she knew as well as he did that she would never be welcomed in Menegroth.

Indeed, he had heard the servants whispering after Celeborn had left, speaking of how when the Sindarin prince had spoken to Artanis they had heard such shouting as they had never heard before, how when they had entered the room later it was to find ink staining the wall, a shattered inkpot, a table turned over; they had quarreled. Meanwhile, she must know that the alliance between her brother and his uncles was growing ever more important in the wake of the withdrawal of Doriath's support from Nargothrond. Artanis had ever acted in the interest of others, in the interest of Finwe's house, of the Noldor. After all, had she not lied to the Sindar, to Celeborn himself for nearly twenty years all to protect the Noldor? _She will come around, _he thought_. I will make her see. There is still hope._

Artanis had risen and he looked up, surprised, for she usually stayed longer and, besides, he liked her company while he was about his work. "What are you doing?" He asked her and she turned back with a smile.

"Leaving," she said. "It was just that you reminded me of something Celeborn once said - that a crown is a crown only so long as you can keep it."

"I don't take your meaning," he said, perturbed once again that she had brought up the hateful subject of that Sinda.

"Your sword," she said, "you are worried that you will lose your place as a chief smith of Gondolin. Well, it has occurred to me that perhaps a place is yours only so long as you can keep it."

And Celebrimbor was still puzzled at her words but his patience had grown thin with her and so he merely said, "well then, if you are leaving this early today then I shall expect you tomorrow."

Artanis merely smiled and said, "we shall see."


End file.
